Aiër
by emon14
Summary: Shëanon embarks on a quest that will change her life forever and must come to terms with her heritage, her abilities, and the desires of her heart. Tenth Walker. Legolas/OC
1. Chapter 1

Aiër- Prologue

T.A. 3003

The night was cool and clear in the valley of Imladris. The deep indigo of the evening sky was scattered with summer stars and the familiar sound of the River Bruinen was melodic and refreshing as it danced on the breeze over the Last Homely House. Lord Elrond stood at one of the high, open windows of his study, gazing out over the docile waters where they lapped at the western bank. He had spent many peaceful nights sitting at his great oak desk, listening to the river water gurgle lazily far below; the sound was usually soothing to his ears and mind and such balmy summer evenings normally brought to him a sense of relaxation and contentment.

Elrond's mind, however, was not at ease on this night. He had risen from his chair and abandoned his reading some hours ago, for a sense of foreboding had come upon him unexpectedly. He surveyed the valley, the great fords of the river, knowing that the stillness of the night would not last long. He felt something approaching quickly through the darkness.

Even deep in thought as he was, he heard the hurried footsteps in the hall several moments before a sharp knock sounded upon the closed door behind him.

"Enter," he called, his eyes still on the night. He heard the door open.

"My Lord Elrond, you are needed immediately in the infirmary."

Elrond turned, hearing the urgency in Erestor's voice. The elf's eyes shown with worry in the soft light of the fireplace. The elf-lord hastened towards the door, for seldom did Erestor's face wear an expression of such disquiet.

"What has happened?" Elrond asked calmly as the two hurried from his study. Moonlight flickered eerily across their faces as they passed swiftly through long, colonnaded corridors and down winding steps. Erestor did not answer for a moment, and Elrond turned his sharp gaze back to look at him, startled and worried by his hesitation.

"The patrol has returned, my lord," Erestor answered finally. Elrond could tell that he was speaking carefully.

"My sons?" he asked immediately, though he knew that his advisor and friend would be much more frantic had something happened to Elladan or Elrohir.

"They are well," Erestor reassured him as they crossed a courtyard and approached the infirmary. Their feet were silent on the smooth cobble stones. "But they bring with them one who is not."

Elrond's eyebrows drew together at this. He stepped over the great stone threshold and into the Healing Halls of Imladris, instantly aware of many shadowed figures along the wall near the door. He registered distantly that these were all the soldiers of the first patrol crowded into the room, but he had no time to consider this before his eyes found his sons. Elrohir sat on the edge of one of the hall's many narrow beds, his back to the door and his brother standing before him. Strange gasping sounds echoed under the vaulted ceiling as Elrond strode forward. Both twins raised their faces to meet their father's gaze as he hurried over to them, Elrohir turning his head to look over his shoulder. Their expressions were grim and strangely tender.

"They found the child on the outskirts of the forest, not far from the Last Bridge," Erestor murmured anxiously from behind him as Elrond rounded the end of the cot. He stopped dead in his tracks as he took in the sight before him.

Huddled in Elrohir's lap, wrapped in several cloaks, was a weeping child. Her gaunt face was pale except for where her eyes were red from crying; tears stained her little cheeks. She was utterly filthy. What little of her that Elrond could see was covered in dirt and dust—skin and clothing alike. Her eyes were tightly closed and her sobs seemed to shake from fear and pain. Tiny, pointed ears peaked out from under her tangled hair, illuminated by the moonlight and the candles that elves were beginning to light around the room.

"We have tried both Sindarin and Westron, Adar, but she will not speak and we are unsure if she understands us," Elladan explained in his soft, sturdy voice, but he shifted his weight uneasily as Elrond stared at the little girl.

Finally, he knelt down next to the bed. His son held the child close to his chest, seeming simultaneously unsure of what to make of the crying creature in his arms and reluctant to release her.

"She is hurt?" he asked pointedly, reaching to gently pry the cloaks away from her little body. At the sound of his voice, she finally looked up, her blue eyes wide with distrust and wonder. She shrunk away from him as he peered at her emaciated limbs and ragged clothes.

"Yes. We think she has been beaten."

"Beaten?" Elrond asked sharply, fixing his son's face under a piercing gaze. Elrohir did not answer, but fury flashed in his eyes and Elrond gently coaxed the hysterical child off of his lap and onto the bed. He ordered a draught to be made to calm the elfling as he and his sons murmured soothing words in elvish. The child shivered in the warm summer air and cried out as he peeled off the rags she wore, though she had not the strength to fight against him as he had expected.

Elrond pulled her threadbare dress over her head and clenched his jaw in anger and revulsion. Behind him, someone swore loudly—Glorfindel, he thought, but he had not heard him come in. Dark bruises covered the child's arms and torso, so terrible that they were still purple despite being several days old. Long, thin burn marks ran across the front and back of her thighs, and the flesh of her back was marred by crisscrossing lashes, some scabbing over and others still raw and open, but all were infected. The child recoiled from him as he examined her.

"I need athelas, sage, pilinehtar, and a bowl and pestle," Elrond ordered darkly as he probed the child's sides for broken ribs. "Now." He worked in near silence, speaking only to give orders and reassure the little elleth. His hands were steady but his heart pounded with rage. Finally, after balms, ice, and bandages had been applied to her wounds, the grime sponged from her skin, and a soothing tea coaxed down her throat, the child lay asleep on the cot. Even in her exhausted state, distress remained on her young face. Elrond stood at the foot of the bed, his left arm crossed over his chest, the thumb and forefinger of his right hand pressed against his eyes. He had ordered the soldiers out earlier in an effort to calm the girl-child. Those who remained in the room stood in silence for a moment, but now that the child had been cared for and their anxiety somewhat abated, Elrond could feel their anger thick in the air. Elven children had become rare and precious, and he was sick with rage as he thought of the torture that the little girl had been subjected to.

A soft wind blew in through the open windows, the curtains billowing a bit as a result.

"Who would do this to a child?" Glorfindel finally exploded, breaking the silence. He clenched his fists and paced before the fireplace. "Who would _whip_ a little girl?" Such anger was a great contrast to his usual composure, for he had seen and done much in the world.

"She has clearly been amongst men," Elrond answered scathingly as he stood regarding the child's sleeping form. He had covered her with a soft blanket and brushed her hair away from her face. The pleading in her eyes when she had looked at him had almost been his undoing.

"And how did she get there? What of her parents?"

"She is half human." Elrond's replied bitterly. "It is not such a mystery."

Glorfindel stopped pacing, turning around to look at Elrond in surprise. Erestor sighed deeply, as if in resignation, and the twins rose from their perch on the windowsill. Elrond realized that they had never taken off their leather armor or unburdened themselves of their weapons.

"The child is Peredhil, Adar?" Elrohir asked in astonishment, looking from his father to the child and back. His face was startled, but Elrond saw recognition in his eyes.

"She is," Elrond affirmed. They all stood around the sleeping child, no one willing to speak. Glorfindel was a silhouette before the fire, his usually good-humored face thunderous and half in shadow. Erestor was beside him, his hands resting on the top of a high-backed chair; there was sorrow in his eyes. Elladan and Elrohir stepped up on either side of their father, their identical faces for once adorned with identical expressions; Elrond saw the same tumultuous emotions that he felt in his own heart reflected back at him as he looked first at one of his sons and then at the other, and he knew what he would do.

Elrond was there when the child woke the next day. It was still very early; the sun's rays had only just peaked over the mountains to the east and birds sung in nearby trees. Elladan and Elrohir were there as well, for they felt that it would be good for the child to wake to their familiar faces. Elrond was standing at the window, watching the dawn without really seeing it, when he heard the child stir next to him. Sleepily she rubbed her eyes, but Elrond saw the beginnings of panic as she looked around and did not remember where she was. He stepped forward and she looked up apprehensively into his face.

"Good morning, pen tithen," he said, pulling over a chair and lowering himself onto it. He watched her wide eyes flicker around the room, to Elladan and Elrohir, who smiled fondly at her, before returning to him. "My name is Lord Elrond," he told her in the common tongue, "and you are in my house, where you are safe." The child said nothing, only continued to stare. "Do you understand me?" he asked, searching her small face. Finally, she nodded. Elrond smiled.

"Very good," he said kindly. "Can you tell me your name?"

The little girl looked back at the twins for a moment, then up at the ceiling. Elrond leaned forward a bit in his chair as she rubbed her hands against her eyes and looked at him once more. He smiled at her encouragingly.

"Shëanon," she whispered tremulously, her azure eyes large and round.

"Shëanon?" Elrond repeated, and the child nodded again. "That is a very pretty name."

Elrond's smile grew wider as he watched the child's cheeks turn pink, happy with the compliment despite her wariness. "How old are you, Shëanon?"

"Five," she answered shyly, still looking at Elrond in nervous awe. Elrond's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Five?" He asked, sharing a quick glance with his sons. Shëanon nodded and held up five little fingers in confirmation. Elrond was disconcerted but said nothing. If the child was only five years old, then it was clear that she was growing at human speed; a five-year-old elfling would be hardly more than an infant. "Well then, you are a big girl," he said indulgently. She flushed again and smiled hesitantly, but the smile faded and was soon replaced by her wide-eyed stare.

"Are you frightened, pen tithen?" Elrond asked after a moment, concerned.

"You're bright!" the child said very nervously, and then seemed to instantly regret it, biting her lip and looking worried, as though she thought it unwise to tell him that she was aware of his brightness. Elrond laughed outright, completely endeared.

"I am bright because I am an elf," he explained, watching her little jaw drop. The nervousness left her small face, and her expression became one of pure wonder.

"An elf?" she asked, her voice hushed with awe. Elrond nodded, and Shëanon looked quickly at Elladan and Elrohir. They smiled at her conspiratorially. "Are they elves, too?" she asked him in a hopeful little voice.

"Yes they are," Elrond replied, pleased by her astuteness. He chuckled as she glanced back at his sons and then quickly averted her gaze, embarrassed to have been caught staring. "You are in an elven city," Elrond explained to her. "Everyone here is an elf."

At these words, the little girl looked around the room, trying to see all that had been built by elven hands. Elrond looked at the child pensively. He considered her for a moment.

"You are an elf, too, Shëanon," he told her seriously, looking at her to gauge her reaction. Her face dropped immediately.

"No I'm not," she said sadly.

"No?" Elrond asked, raising a brow. "Then what are you, pen tithen?"

The child hesitated and did not answer, but looked at Elrond with doubt and naked longing in her fawn-like eyes. Elrond smiled once more.

"Shall I tell you something about elves?" he asked her, his tone akin to that which he would us if he were offering to share some great secret. The little girl finally sat up, nodding eagerly, her pain forgotten in her excitement and in the wake of the previous night's treatment. The soft green blanket was still a cocoon around her small shoulders. Elrond turned his head slightly and pulled his hair away from his right ear. Shëanon stared at him in shock.

"That's just like my ears!" she squeaked.

"Indeed," Elrond agreed. "That is because you have elven ears, penneth."

The three grown elves laughed at the look on the child's face.

Shëanon remained in Rivendell as Elrond tended to her. He noted in amusement that the child was particularly drawn to his sons; she had taken to following them around the valley, staring silently at her surroundings as her small hand clutched at the back of their robes. This had become such a common occurrence that Elladan and Elrohir had started calling her 'tithen lum.' In those first few weeks, Shëanon spoke very little, but every ellon or elleth who looked upon her adored her immediately and soon elves were flocking to his door with tiny dresses and ornate dolls to present to her. The elfling seemed a bit overwhelmed by all of the attention, and indeed unsure of what to make of it, but Elrond could see that she was pleased.

Try as he might, Elrond had been unable to learn anything about Shëanon's parents. It was obvious that one had been Eldar and the other of the race of Men, but beyond that he knew nothing. He wracked his brain in an attempt to think of an elf who had fallen in love with a human, or might have fallen in love with one, or who had recently gone missing or passed across the sea to Valinor or Mandos, but he could think of no one who could possibly be the child's mother or father. The affair had obviously been kept a secret.

He did, however, obtain some other insight through questioning the child. This had proven difficult as, at best, Shëanon seemed wary of Elrond, and he found that she was very reluctant to speak with him. He finally coaxed her one day into explaining how she had happened into the forest where his sons had found her. She claimed she had been running away from her "master."

"Your master?" Elrond asked sharply. "Do you mean your father?"

Shëanon shook her head slowly, backing away from him as her little face grew pale and her eyes became wide and uncertain.

"Was it your master that hurt you?" he asked more gently, searching her face with his probing gaze. He watched her distrust evolve into panic as she retreated back another step, finding herself now against the wall. She started to cry. This strange behavior recurred each time that Elrond tried to learn more about the child. "Come now, pen tithen," he would murmur woefully as he took a step towards her, "no one here will hurt you." Such reassurances however seemed to do little to calm the girl once her tears had started, and only Elladan and Elrohir were able to put an end to her hysterics. This bothered Elrond greatly, though he did not speak of it to anyone and he would watch somberly as the tiny child was lifted into one of the twin's arms. She did not cry on any other occasions and little by little she seemed to grow accustomed to her new home.

Exactly three weeks since she had been brought to Imladris, Elrond sat with Shëanon on an upholstered bench in the library, where he had persuaded the child to let him read her a story. He smiled to himself as the little girl had slowly inched closer to him, peering at the pictures of the Valar on the book's aged pages as she became engrossed in the tale. The story was written in Sindarin, in the tengwar alphabet, but Elrond translated it to Westron as he read aloud. He would teach her the tongues of her people soon enough.

"That is Yavanna," Elrond told the girl as she looked intently at an illustrated page. There was depicted a beautiful female figure with flowing blonde hair and billowing green robes; behind her were two luminous trees, one bathed in silver and the other shining gold. "And the trees Telperion and Laurelin, do you see?"

"Master Elrond," called a voice, and Elrond looked up from his reading to see an elf stride toward him. "A message from Estel," the elf said, bowing and handing him a small scroll of parchment. Elrond nodded his thanks and accepted the note, tucking it into his robes. He turned back to the story just as the child scrambled out of her seat. The look on her face was conflicted, but Elrond could sense the anxiety she felt.

"Shëanon?" he asked patiently. Her chin began to tremble.

"I knew it," she said in despair and started to cry. "I knew it, I knew." Alarmed, Elrond set the book down beside him and stared at her, waiting.

"What did you know?" he asked hesitantly; the child had been happy only moments before.

"I knew you're my new master," the elfling wept. Her little shoulders shook with the force of her tears. Elrond was so surprised that for a moment he was at a loss and could not speak. "I knew, I knew," she cried over and over.

"Shëanon," he said firmly when he had recovered from his shock. He leaned forward on his elbows to bring his face closer to hers. "I am not your master."

The little girl shook her head furiously, her copper curls whipped about by the motion. "He said so! He said you were the master! He said!" she cried, and her sobs now rose all the way from her chest.

"I am not your master," Elrond promised, looking intensely at her face. "You have no master here."

Shëanon looked as though her worst fears had been realized. "You're not my master?" she asked in distress. Elrond shook his head and, sensing that the child was about to flee, he rose to grab her. He was dumbstruck when, rather than back away from him, she lunged forward, attaching herself to his leg with such desperation that he did not think he could have pried her away even if he had tried.

"Please," she begged, "please don't send me back! Please don't make me go back to my master! I promise I'll be good! I promise I'll obey you!"

Elrond looked down at her in astonishment. Her tears dampened his clothes where she pressed her face against him. She took gasping little breaths. Slowly he knelt before her and she looked up nervously, unmoving, as though she half-expected him to strike her. Crystalline tears clung like dew drops to the thick lashes around her eyes. Elrond's heart was swollen with emotion has he pulled her up into his arms. He sat back down on the bench with the child on his lap; her hands latched onto the front of his robes, her small fingers curled into fists.

"No one is going to send you away," he said slowly, his voice low with compassion, one hand one her little head. "You are staying here, in Imladris, where we will take care of you."

"C-care?" the child whimpered, and Elrond held her closer.

"Yes," he confirmed. "You are staying here, and I will take care of you."

"But you're not my master?" Shëanon choked, and he could tell that she was desperately trying to understand. She sobbed again, the sound so small and innocent to Elrond's ears that he began to rock her gently back and forth.

"No, I am not your master, child," Elrond said softly. "I am your adar, your father. Do you understand?" he asked, looking down at where her small face rested against his chest. Her features were pinched with concentration.

"You are Elladan and Elrohir's adar," she whispered after a moment, and Elrond smiled tenderly at her perceptiveness.

"Yes, I am," he confirmed. "And I am your adar now, too." Even as he said the words, Elrond knew in his heart that it was true.

_Translations:_

Adar- father

_Pen tithen- little one_

_Penneth- little one, young one_

_Tithen lum- little shadow_


	2. Chapter 2

Aiër- Chapter One

T.A. 3018 (Fifteen Years Later)

The last of the night's straggling stars had gradually faded into the murky gray that lay over the world just before dawn. Now streaks of purest pink and orange began to stain the horizon as the sky overhead passed slowly into lilac and then into softest blue. The foliage of the Hidden Valley had been an eerie sight during the night, but now the sun's first rays revealed the rich colors of autumn that adorned the trees and bushes. Leaves of bright yellow and red seemed almost translucent where the new day's light filtered through the gaps between strong branches and boughs.

Shëanon stood on one of Rivendell's many stone bridges, watching absently as the October sun's beams sparkled on the surface of the Bruinen. The air was cool and clean in her mouth; there was no breeze, but the familiar smell of the river and the fall trees was in her every breath. Shëanon shifted her weight anxiously as she looked out at the morning. She had been pacing around the edges of the city all the night and all the night before. Now her limbs were heavy as she stood her silent vigil, but she could not bring herself to go to her room to rest.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned, startled. Lord Elrond stood next to her, leaning now as she was on the smooth, carven rail. She scowled half-heartedly as he raised his eyebrows at her, for she knew that he wordlessly acknowledged her inattentiveness; indeed she had been deep in a reverie and she did not hear his approach. She looked down at her hands.

"Good morning, Adar," she muttered wearily. Even without looking at him, she could see the disapproval on his face.

"Standing watch all night and day will not return them any sooner," Elrond said calmly. Shëanon said nothing and listened to her adoptive father sigh. "You need to sleep," he said pointedly.

Shëanon blinked slowly. She knew that her father was right, but no amount of weariness could have brought sleep to her on that morning. Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir, and Glorfindel were days gone from Imladris, searching for Aragorn. Aragorn himself was out in the wilderness, burdened by four halflings. Wraiths pursued them all.

And Shëanon sat in Imladris like a coward.

"I want to be waiting when they arrive," she said explained a bit stubbornly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. His face held an expression of fatherly concern hidden behind the stern exasperation that she knew so well; she felt a strange pang in her chest at the sight.

"I would be glad for it," Elrond said lowly, "if I knew you had had some rest." His piercing gaze bore into her until finally she felt her will crumble. She bowed her head, pushing away from the railing.

Elrond smiled at her in understanding, an arm coming around his daughter's slumped shoulders, and Shëanon allowed herself to be steered back over the bridge and up the path to the main part of the small city. She could not deny even to herself that her mind was growing muddled and her senses unfocused.

"Your heart is true, hên nín," he murmured kindly as they climbed the smooth stone steps up from the river. His hand was warm against her arm. "Sleep for a while, and then I will let you resume your watch."

Shëanon stiffened slightly but said nothing at her father's gentle teasing. It was ever apparent to her that he still looked at her and saw a little girl, and she knew that her intention to await the return of her family amused him. She was to him like a puppy serving as a guard dog.

The elven settlement was still with the hush of early morning as they approached the elf lord's great dwelling. Shëanon was not fooled by his quiet conversation; Elrond's intentions were clearly to see her all the way to her chambers, lest she sneak back to the bridge and get into some sort of trouble. Her suspicions were confirmed as they reached the arched door to her room. Her father placed both large hands on her shoulders, turning her about to gaze sternly into her face. She looked dully up at him, and the corners of his lips turned up.

"Do you promise me that you will rest?" he asked seriously, but she heard some humor in his voice.

"Yes, Adar," Shëanon sighed, resigned and admittedly exhausted. Elrond smiled knowingly and pulled the door closed behind her as she crossed the threshold to her room.

Shëanon stood still for a moment, listening to her father's fading footsteps, and then she crossed slowly to her bed. With none of the grace of the Eldar, she plopped down on the edge of the soft mattress and looked around her room. Large, tall windows framed by gauzy drapes lined the walls and opened into the trees, making the chamber light, airy, and spacious. A small, intricately carved table next to the bed held a candle, some books, and a pitcher of water. Next to it sat the gilded cedar chest that contained her clothes and a few of her more precious possessions and on the opposite wall, next to the door, was a small mirrored vanity. Her gaze caught on her reflection.

A girl of twenty looked back at her through strange blue eyes. Hair that couldn't seem to decide whether it was red or brown hung in curling tendrils past her shoulders, the front pulled back off her face. She was small, especially small for an elleth, but she had met no human women to compare herself to. Her skin was pale and clear, her features fair but unremarkable. She tore her eyes away from the mirror, looking instead at the items in the corner. From pegs on the wall hung her bow, quiver, and sheathed sword. Several knives rested on a delicate shelf above, and next to them were polish and arrowheads and small leather pouches.

Shëanon laughed bitterly to herself as she pulled off her boots and reclined against the silky, embroidered bed linens. She was no less skilled than Arwen with blade or bow, but when Mithrandir had arrived in Imladris the day before, speaking words of danger and Nazgûl and impending doom, Shëanon had been forbidden from accompanying her sister and brothers on their frantic search for the travelers. Lord Elrond had given no explanation with the command, but Shëanon did not need one. To the immortal Eldar, those who had passed hundreds if not thousands of years upon the earth, she was alarmingly young and terribly naïve. It was her curse as Peredhil. Among the race of men, she would be fully grown. Elves were not considered completely mature until they had lived one hundred years, at least. Shëanon was trapped in a no man's land that few, if any, had ever before endured. Her own father, Elrond Half-Elven, for example, had aged for the most part in the typical elven way, despite his human blood.

Shëanon rolled onto her side, her back to the door, feeling isolated and incredibly frustrated. She lay atop the bedcovers, still in her tunic and leggings, and tried to rest her body. Her tired mind, however, raced. Nearly all of her loved ones were out in harm's way. The suspense, the not knowing plagued her thoughts and left her feeling unbearably helpless. Thoughts flashed across her consciousness, of Aragorn and Arwen and the twins, lying sprawled and motionless on the forest floor with Morgul blades in their chests. Shëanon knew that her fears were a very real possibility and that for that same fear her father had kept her in Imladris. She could not make him understand that she was willing to risk such dangers for her friends and family, nor that she knew her capabilities and limitations and was able to decide such matters for herself. Her protests went always disregarded.

Shëanon fidgeted anxiously. By now the morning sunlight had begun to creep in through her open windows, shafts of light falling on the floor. A week ago she had run to find her father in his study, for once bursting through the door without pausing to knock. His bemused expression had very quickly changed to one of sorrow and remorse as she hurriedly told him what she had seen: Aragorn, alone in a place of ruins, brandishing fire against terrible, dark creatures; Mithrandir's body falling from a great black tower; small creatures crying out in fright, running through the forest. She had stood before him, breathless and trembling as he rested his elbows upon his parchment-covered desk, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. After a small eternity, he had finally looked at her. His voice was grave and grim as he told her that there was truth to what she'd seen, for he had seen it as well.

Shëanon closed her eyes against the memory. She had been carrying a vase of flowers to the hall when the vision had come upon her. It had slipped from her hands as her consciousness was pulled out of her control. She had staggered and fallen, landing on her knees upon the jagged shards of glass. Her kneecaps still bore the stitches, the skin aching a bit even as she lay there.

Until that moment in her father's study, she had not truly believed that she possessed the gift of foresight. As a child she found herself frequently startled and confused to find that she knew something was going to happen before it actually did. The first vision had come a few years earlier. Elrond had not seemed at all surprised when she'd approached him in the hall late at night to tearfully explain that she had seen the orc raid on the village of men in her own mind days before the patrol had arrived to report it. He told her then that the Valar had gifted her, and she was made nervous by the pity in his eyes, but it had not seemed real. Perhaps not until she lay on her bed just then, reflecting, did she truly accept that it was so. Mithrandir's arrival the day before had brought with it the confirmation that her vision was the truth. Her mind became more troubled with this realization.

'Some gift,' she thought angrily as she turned onto her other side. She had no control over what she saw, for it was a skill that took centuries to master; once again she was a victim of her youth. Until she learned control, Elrond had explained, she saw only what the Valar wanted her to see. The knowledge that her mind was at the mercy of others had disturbed Shëanon greatly, and she shivered then in the autumn morning.

A few hours passed, and Shëanon wondered how long her father expected her to rest. She rather doubted that he would deem two sleepless hours acceptable, but her nerves grew with each passing minute. The thought of someone not returning, lost to the shadow world, was too terrible for her to bear and she had the sudden urge to go down to the practice field, to pull back on her bow string and shoot something—anything. The pent up anxiety had become too much for her and she was just sitting up and tugging on her boots when she heard the sounds of commotion in the distance.

Shëanon reached the main gateway just in time to see Arwen, still astride her horse, place a small body into Lord Elrond's outstretched arms. She dismounted then and hurried up the front stair after her father and an ashen-faced Mithrandir, and then she was gone from sight. Shëanon stood for a moment in the midst of the small crowd of elves who had come running when Arwen had arrived. Only when someone finally led the great white horse away did the murmuring ellyn begin to disperse. Rather than follow in the wake of her father and sister, however, Shëanon turned away from the stairs and stepped onto a steep, rocky path that lead to the bank of the river. If Arwen had just come, then surely the others must not be far behind, and though she was relieved that her sister was safe, Shëanon could not breathe easily until she saw with her own eyes that the rest of her family had made it back to Rivendell unscathed.

She walked along the base of the rocky perch upon which sat her father's settlement, heading in the direction from whence she knew Arwen had come. She stepped carefully, for she saw that the river was turbulent and lapped high upon the shore. 'A bad omen,' she thought with dread.

After a very short while, she stopped and dropped down onto a large boulder. She sat staring out at the opposite bank, her eyes scanning the trees for approaching figures, her ears straining to discern any voices on the air. The rushing water calmed and the charge in the air dissipated as the sun climbed higher in the sky; the new serenity of the day prodded at Shëanon's nerves and she felt agitated and anxious. Surely if something had happened, if someone was hurt, she would have been able to see it on Arwen's face? Surely someone would have rushed to her, to tell her at once?

'But what if Arwen didn't know?' She thought uneasily. The halfling that Arwen carried with her had been gravely injured and instinct told her that the hobbit had been wounded at the terrible hands of the Nazgûl. A wave of nausea rolled over her at the thought, but still she waited.

Hours passed. The Bruinen trickled innocently over the small stones at its bed and a bird chirped somewhere to her left. Squirrels scampered from branch to branch in the large trees across the water. Shëanon balled her hands into fists, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. Her worry growing by the minute and her patience stretched thin, she forced herself to stay still.

Finally, she saw movement in the trees before her and she jumped to her feet. Her heart was racing and she felt sick. She did not know what she would do if the worst had happened. She wanted to pace but she could not bring herself to look away from the tree line. Just then, a branch was pushed aside and Elladan emerged from the shade, leading his large black stallion. A hobbit sat upon the beast, wearing an expression of worry and fatigue. Shëanon let out a shuddering breath. As the horse's front hooves stepped into the water with a quiet _plunk_, Elrohir stepped out behind his brother, a halfling upon his steed as well. Shëanon watched in tense silence as Glorfindel and then Aragorn came out of the brush, and then her heart swelled with such relief that she nearly wept there upon the bank. As the unusual procession waded across the ford, she stepped up to the very edge of the water.

"Look, Elrohir," Elladan called over his shoulder when they were halfway across the river. "A fair maiden eagerly awaits our return!"

"Little sister," he said when he finally reached her side. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You look distressed."

Shëanon scowled as Elrohir bent next to press his lips to her other cheek.

"Our little shadow is upset that she was left behind," he said with a wide smile that did not fool Shëanon at all. Under their teasing smiles and lighthearted words, she could see that their eyes were dark with hatred and disgust and she knew that they had indeed encountered the wraiths. She opened her mouth to speak but the twins were already leading their horses up the path.

Glorfindel stepped up next, his back straight and his steps sure. His face was not the least bit disturbed, his expression completely calm and his countenance relaxed, but his eyes flashed like steel.

"Penneth," he said warmly, bowing his head and bringing a great hand over his heart as he walked past her. She smiled weakly; the hobbit astride Asfaloth seemed nervous indeed, and Shëanon suspected that he had borne witness to the Balrog Slayer's fury. She shuddered at the thought, and watched him lead his mighty horse in the twin's wake. She turned again.

Aragorn stepped at last out of the water, leading a rather sad looking pony. His clothing was soaked to the knees and unlike the three elves before him, his shoulders were slumped and his footfalls heavy. Dirt and mud were thick upon his clothes and hands, but more uncommon were the shadows under his eyes. His expression was very grim, but Shëanon could also see his relief. The Last Homely House was a very welcome sight, she knew.

Finally he lifted his head and met her gaze. Shëanon wanted very badly to throw her arms around him, for she had not seen him for many months and she had worried for him greatly over the past few days especially, but she fought the urge. Instead she crossed her arms over herself and smiled at him anxiously. To her great relief, he grinned, if wearily, and shook his head.

"How long have you been waiting?" he asked lowly, tugging the exhausted pony along.

Shëanon smiled ruefully as she turned to walk beside him to the stables. "Not very long," she assured him.

Aragorn looked down at her skeptically. "You look almost as tired as I," he said in a knowing voice.

Shëanon blushed and averted her gaze. He knew her too well.

"Ah, Shea," Aragorn chuckled and placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair slightly like he had done when she was little.

Shëanon smiled despite herself, pleased by the affectionate gesture. She realized that she had been shaking slightly when the group had returned, and now she finally felt her tense muscles relax; everyone was truly safe. They walked in silence for a moment.

"What happened, Aragorn?" she asked at last. She wanted to know before they were descended upon by her father and Mithrandir and the others. They might not tell her the whole truth, although much of it she had already guessed.

Aragorn sent her a sideways glance as they came up onto the main walkway. Shëanon looked at him pleadingly, and she saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

"Later," he said solemnly.

Several hours later, Shëanon stood in the darkness, listening. The house had been hectic all day. Apparently, the hobbit Frodo had been stabbed by a Morgul blade, the wound so serious that her father had only just been able to save him from the terrible fate of passing into the shadows. The other three hobbits naturally had been sick with worry, but Bilbo Baggins—now old and frail with age—had been nothing short of frantic. Mithrandir now sat with him by his nephew's bedside, and Shëanon suspected they would remain there until the morning. Elrond and Glorfindel had gone into the lord's study at around midday, shutting the door behind them, and despite his promise to explain everything to her, Aragorn too had disappeared soon after he'd learned that Frodo would recover. Though she still longed to know what had happened out in the wilderness, Shëanon dared not seek him out; she knew that he was with Arwen somewhere in the night and she blushed slightly at the thought.

It had been very clear to her throughout the day that everyone was working very hard to keep her ignorant of the events of the past week or so. Several times she had gone to look for Elladan and Elrohir only to find them speaking lowly to each other or to various patrol officers, and after exchanging a look, one of them would head her off with a charming smile and artfully lead her away.

"Ah, tithen lum," Elrohir had said in his musical voice when she had found them in the library with Erestor, "I believe Lindir has requested your presence in the hall. Come, I will accompany you."

After two more similar incidents, Shëanon had given up and gone to the archery field, furious and more hurt than she cared to admit. She had been so worried about them that she had not slept in days, and her adoptive brothers would not even speak to her. She fired arrow after arrow, in desperate need of an outlet for her pent up emotions. The twang of her bow string and the feel of the smooth wood under her fingers were as soothing as the physical strain was satisfying, but the activity was a poor distraction; for hours her frustration simmered in her heart. Through dusk and into the night she shot at the many practice targets, and only when the stars were fully risen over her head and her muscles ached from relentless exertion did she finally retrieve her arrows, the sound of crickets loud in her ears.

Now she stood in the unlit corridor just outside her father's study, trying to hear the conversation taking place on the other side of the closed door. It was Elrond, his sons, and Glorfindel in there, she knew; Elrond and Mithrandir had spoken earlier in the day, and then the elf-lord had sought Erestor's counsel. She knew it was no accident that they had conversed while she had been out on the practice field. As quietly as she could, she inched away from the pillar that she was pressed against, out of the shadows and closer to the door. Did they think she was so stupid that she didn't know what was happening? Shëanon knew that Frodo Baggins had brought the One Ring to Imladris. She knew that the wraiths had pursued the travelers for that reason and it infuriated her that her family was trying to keep her in the dark. Inside the study, the elves were speaking just quietly enough that her half-human ears could not hear their words, only the seriousness of their voices.

She wanted to yell. Was she so untrustworthy? She should not need to stand lurking in the dark to eavesdrop on her father and brothers. The ring was there in her very home—did not the matter concern her? Should not she know what was happening, what was being decided, so that she was not taken by surprise if the armies of Mordor stormed the valley? Her thoughts turned to the moment a few days before, when Arwen had been securing her sword to her waist and swinging onto her horse and Elrond had stood behind Shëanon with his hands on her shoulders so that she could not follow even if she had tried.

"You are staying here," he had said severely, cutting across her imploring words. She had felt so foolish, so angry as she watched the other elves ride over the bridge and into the world, a world she had been kept from. She had trained constantly, ruthlessly; for more than ten years she had pushed herself out in the field until her body hurt so badly that she wept in the night, and for what had seemed the hundredth time, she was held back, reprimanded and then consoled like an overreaching child. It had become too much for her. Her mind reeled and her temper flared.

Impulsively, she made a sound of frustration and threw out her arm, her fist pounding against the cool wood of the closed door before her; the sound echoed in the quiet, dark hallway and the voices inside the study fell instantly silent. She stood still for a moment, frozen. Part of her was still seething with the righteous indignation of one who had been treated unjustly. The other part of her, however, the part that heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the door, wanted to turn on her heel and run to her room as fast as her feet could carry her. Shëanon silenced that part of her as the door swung open and she squinted slightly as the bright light fell across her face, her eyes taking a moment to adjust.

She blinked and saw Elrond standing in the doorway, looking down at her with his eyebrows raised. With his great body an almost-silhouette in the light of the fire, his stern face half in darkness, Shëanon found her father very intimidating. Determined not to show it, however, she lifted her chin and looked back at him rebelliously.

"You knocked?" Elrond asked sardonically after a moment, and the twins chuckled from inside the room. Shëanon scowled.

"Yes," she said as defiantly as she dared.

"Then by all means, enter," Elrond said imperiously, standing aside. "It must have grown tiresome trying to listen in the hall." More laughter. Of course they had all known she was there.

Shëanon felt her face burn scarlet as her father shot her a look of reproach, but she sensed that he was also teasing. Now slightly reluctant, she stepped past him into the study. Elladan, Elrohir, and Glorfindel stood crowded around the fireplace. As she approached them, Elrond procured a small wooden chair, the back high and straight, and placed it close to the hearth.

"Sit down, iell nín," he said neutrally, though she could tell that he was not entirely pleased. Shëanon sank onto it hesitantly; she did not like to sit while everyone else stood but she felt it would have been unwise to argue now.

"You surprise me, little sister," Elrohir said mischievously, his arms across his chest. "I thought you would knock much sooner."

Elladan grinned lazily from where he leaned against the mantle. "I did not think you would knock at all," he said.

"I am surprised that the child has gone all these years without raising her bow and shooting either of you," Glorfindel said with apparent disinterest, though his otherworldly eyes glittered in the light of the dancing flames.

Shëanon glanced at him, appreciative; he at least did not seem to be teasing her. She looked then up into her father's face. He stood gazing pensively into the fire, one strong hand gripping the back of her chair.

"Adar?" she asked tentatively. Her anger had faded, and with it had gone her nerve. Elrond said nothing for a moment, but eventually he looked at her. She bit her lip, wanting so badly to ask what they had been discussing, but suddenly very afraid of having to hear him say that he would not tell her. She looked down at her hands, curled in her lap.

Lord Elrond sighed deeply, the sound full of resignation.

"We are trying to decide what to do," he explained. Something in his deep voice—wisdom maybe, or caution—suddenly reminded Shëanon that he was thousands of years old. She looked at him again. There was such knowledge in his ancient eyes.

"About what?" she asked. To her relief, her voice had not revealed her sudden anxiety.

Lord Elrond looked at her shrewdly.

"You already know the answer to that."

Shëanon's heart pounded, for although she had been thinking about it for several days, it had seemed a distant, inconsequential matter. To speak it aloud and have it confirmed would make it all too true.

"The One Ring has been found," she said finally. The grim expressions in the eyes of those around her told her that it was so.

"Yes," Lord Elrond said, with much finality and, unless Shëanon was mistaken, with dread. She experienced a pang of fear and shifted nervously in her seat. She did not care that her fear was perceived by all those in the room, for their expressions now revealed that they too were worried.

"What will we do?" she asked after several moments of tense silence.

Elrond looked at her for a moment, considering.

"I am calling for a council," he told her. His voice had taken on an edge and his grey eyes glinted with determination. "Messengers will be sent at dawn to the leaders of Elves and Men and Dwarves."

_Translations:_

_Hên nín- my child_

_Iell nín- my daughter_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who have reviewed so far! I love your comments and opinions; feedback is always welcome! :)

Aiër- Chapter Two

"And the other two?" Shëanon asked curiously, "you think they know nothing?"

She sat shoulder to shoulder with Aragorn, their backs pressed against a large, smooth tree trunk. It was late at night and she had been out on the terrace, leaning against the rail and staring out at her father's realm when she'd felt a light touch to her shoulder. Turning, she had looked up into his face. His expression had been almost indiscernible in the darkness and no words had passed between them, but as he'd turned away down the walk and stepped into the trees, she had known that he meant for her to follow.

Now they were in a small glade, secluded but only steps from the edge of the courtyard behind the house; they could see lights glowing in the windows of the library and hall if they peered through the branches and brush before them. Many times they had rested together in that spot, their elbows on their knees and Aragorn's pipe in his hand. Shëanon had been eight when she'd first come upon him in the little hollow. She had been wandering through the trees, pretending that she was on some great adventure, when she had rounded a large blackberry bush and come face to face with the ranger. She remembered that she had stared at him in dumbfounded surprise, for in her mind it had made absolutely no sense for him to be there. Never would she have found her father, for example, sprawled on the ground in the dirt and leaves.

"Ah, no," he had sighed in pretend, exaggerated despair, "someone has found my hiding place at last."

"Hiding place?" she had asked curiously, scanning the lush green area. The ground rose sharply behind the tree against which Aragorn had leaned, forming what in her young mind had been a tiny, earthy cliff. The rest of the small clearing was shielded by sturdy elms, leafy shrubs, and a great boulder on one side. It was indeed an excellent place to hide, she had thought.

"This is where I come to think," Aragorn had explained as he looked at her.

"Oh," Shëanon had said, flushing. She had felt terrible that day for intruding on him in his place of thought. "I'm sorry," she'd muttered, turning to leave at once and steer clear of the spot forever, but Aragorn had laughed and patted the ground beside him.

"Come and sit, Little Shea," he had chuckled. "I was actually hoping for some company."

Her eight-year-old self had hesitated only for a moment before crossing to his side and sinking down next to him in the soft grass. They had stayed there for a long while, and after that day the little clearing became a place of privacy for the both of them. Whenever Aragorn had something to tell her, or Shëanon had something she needed to speak to him about, he would lead her there and they would sit together under the tree. Sometimes they sat together and said nothing at all, and sometimes when Aragorn was away, Shëanon would go to the glade alone and think of him. The one thing that she never did, however, was seek Aragorn out when he went there without her, for as he had said, it was where he went to think and seek solace.

Now as they leaned into the familiar grooves of the trunk, Aragorn gave her a quiet account of all that had transpired since she had seen him last, from tracking Gollum and finding the hobbits to fleeing from the wraiths.

"If Merry and Pippin know anything, it is only what they have learned from me," Aragorn replied after a moment of thought. "Their presence was a surprise to Gandalf; he had sent only Sam with Frodo."

"It is incredible to me that the One Ring was in the shire for so long," Shëanon said, her voice hushed even in the privacy of the clearing. "I cannot believe that such an evil object was so long in the hands of a creature like Bilbo the Hobbit."

Aragorn shook his head and brought his pipe to his mouth. "It is indeed the last thing that anyone would have expected," he agreed.

Shëanon bit her lip, still mulling it all over.

"Lord Elrond is holding a council," she said slowly. Dry leaves crackled a bit as she shifted on the crisp autumn ground.

"Yes. Riders left here this morning at sunrise," Aragorn confirmed. "They were told to make all haste."

"Do you know who will come here?" she pressed. She picked up a twig and twirled it between her fingers.

"One rode to Minas Tirith and another, I think, to Edoras. Word has also been sent to the Woodland Realm and to the cities of Dale and Erebor."

"Do you think the dwarves will come to this meeting?" she asked curiously. "Adar has said that they do not trust us."

Aragorn turned his head and raised a brow at her. "That is exactly why they will come," he told her arrogantly, though ruefully. Shëanon jabbed at him with her stick and he smiled.

"What of Lothlórien?"

Aragorn shook his head. "The Lord and Lady of Lórien do not need to send a representative to know what will transpire here. They will not want to spare even a single warden."

From somewhere in the distance came the mournful call of a single owl and both turned their head towards the sorrowful, lonely sound. They said nothing for a while after that, reflecting on all that had happened and thinking of what the future would bring.

Shëanon shivered a little in the late October air. Aragorn noticed and wordlessly he moved closer to her, his warm body now touching her much smaller one. Sheepishly, she turned and studied the man beside her. Aragorn had swapped his filthy ranger's garb for a raiment of soft velvet, the new emerald cloth blending just as well into the brush as would his travel-worn cloak and muddy tunic. He was naught but a shadow in the dark of the night, the stars overhead obscured by the leaves and branches above; the glowing embers of his pipe were all that illuminated his strong, fair face, but it was enough for her to see that his eyes were trained ahead of him and his thoughts were distant and wandering.

Shëanon hesitated. She and Aragorn had always been very close. He was as much a brother to her as Elladan and Elrohir, and she loved him very much. Perhaps more than anyone else, Aragorn understood her, for he had also been orphaned and adopted into the Last Homely House and he alone knew the challenges she faced. She was reluctant, however, to speak her mind in that moment, although she did not know why. The silence grew heavy against her ears as she gathered her nerve.

"Aragorn?" she whispered finally into the late evening. He made a low humming sound from beside her, so she continued. "I… I had another vision… the other night," she muttered rather awkwardly. She felt incredibly foolish whenever she spoke of her foresight, like it was a joke.

At her words, Aragorn turned to stare at her, and she could sense the surprise on his face more than she could actually see it; normally she would have told him something like this right away, but this time she had held back. She had never seen anything regarding his future before, and she did not know what he would say. She knew that Lord Elrond looked often into her own fate, and she was not entirely pleased by the notion.

"What did you see?" he asked her when she did not elaborate. Shëanon cringed and picked up a leaf from beside her. She began shredding it between her fingers.

"I saw you," she sighed eventually. "I saw you at Amon Sûl. You were defending the hobbits from the Nazgûl."

Aragorn then was silent for many moments, and Shëanon felt anxiety wash over her. She fidgeted nervously, her eyes on her knees. After several long beats, she finally lifted her gaze to his face. Aragorn was staring at her still. She flushed.

"Did you tell Lord Elrond?" he asked at last.

"Yes," Shëanon whispered, "but no one else."

"Seeing that must have made it even harder for you to have been left behind," he said very compassionately, and Shëanon started. She had not expected him to say anything like that, and she bowed her head, suddenly overcome by emotion. Her eyes burned.

"I was very worried about you," she tried to say, but her voice broke more than once. She could not express how it had been, knowing only glimpses of what was to happen but unable to see more and powerless to stop or change anything—unable to help.

Aragorn brought an arm around her, as he had done so many times before. They stayed like that, huddled together on the ground in the woods, for a long time.

Weeks passed. Frodo Baggins had woken up and was recovering very quickly. Unsurprisingly, he and the other hobbits seemed to like Rivendell very much. Shëanon herself found that her life now was a constant oscillation between merriment and intense worry. Dinnertime was a pleasant affair: the hobbits were a refreshing addition to Lord Elrond's table, for they served as a welcome distraction to everyone. With Gandalf and Aragorn also there in Imladris, meals were more animated than they had ever before been in her memory. She even found herself drawn into the Hall of Fire a few times, though she usually avoided the songs and readings at night.

Like Shëanon, the elves grew anxious as the days elapsed, for they could sense the growing danger and the ever-present shadow that was the One Ring. This nervousness was especially evident among the valley's warriors; those who were not on patrol took to the practice fields each morning, and Shëanon joined them. When the sky was still scarlet with the break of day, she would strap her quiver to her back, her sword to her waist, and silently slip into the dawn. Elladan and Elrohir were always waiting for her, and oftentimes Aragorn was with them. Together they would head down to the field and there they would spar and fight and sometimes have contests of ability. Shëanon was always the last on the field, still shooting long after the others had retired.

It was fifteen days after the ring's arrival to Imladris when a knock sounded on her door as she dressed. Shëanon frowned and glanced at a window. Her eyes still burned with the memory of sleep, but she could see that it was still dark outside. Curious and a little wary, she tugged her tunic hastily over her head and pulled open her door.

"Arwen?" she asked groggily as Arwen stepped past her. "What is it?"

Arwen smiled softly and crossed the room. To Shëanon's surprise, she sank to her knees and began rummaging through her chest of clothes.

"The representatives from the Woodland Realm will be here within the hour," Arwen explained, pulling a pale blue dress from under Shëanon's many pairs of leggings and shirts. She held it up before nodding and placing it on the bed. "Those from Gondor are only half a day behind."

In her sleepy state, it took Shëanon several moments to comprehend Arwen's words. When it finally clicked, she groaned deeply. She was always anxious about meeting new people, and though the thought of so many strangers in her home did intrigue her, she also dreaded the ordeal of being introduced to them. She stood rubbing her eyes as Arwen poured warm water into a bowl and handed her a washcloth.

"This is unnecessary," Shëanon muttered as she quickly washed her face. "I don't see why I should be there."

Arwen turned from the window, her expression disapproving. "Why would you not be?" she asked sternly.

Despite the early hour, Shëanon had the good sense to hold her tongue; she sighed but said nothing. Turning to the bed, pulling off her clothes, and shivering slightly as her skin was assaulted by the cold morning air for the second time since she had risen, she fingered the silky material of the gown that Arwen had selected; it was like woven water between her fingers. Silver embroidery swirled about the neckline and danced down the sleeves. She glanced at Arwen dubiously, but Arwen just raised her eyebrows and waited, a graceful figure framed by the dim light that filtered through the curtains behind her.

"Unnecessary," Shëanon mumbled as she pulled the dress over her head. Her sister came up behind her as the hem fell to the floor, and Shëanon felt her bring a brush to her hair. She smiled in spite of her foul mood. She could not remember the last time Arwen had brushed her hair for her, but she used to beg her to comb through the wild, unruly mop upon her head when she was little, luxuriating in the treatment like a spoiled cat. Now she closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the gentle tugging at her scalp as her ferocious curls were twisted into braids. Had she not been standing, she might have fallen back asleep.

When she felt her sister's fingers finally fall from her hair, Shëanon reluctantly opened her eyes. As she had expected, Arwen had procured a small silver circlet. Shëanon looked at it miserably. It managed to glint even in the pale half-light of the room, she noticed with a scowl. She hated the beautiful, intricate elven tiara; she always felt extremely uncomfortable and foolish when it was on her head, for she did not feel that she really had the right to wear it. She was not truly Lord Elrond's daughter, after all, and to bear a symbol of such high rank made her feel presumptuous and false.

"Adar said that you are to wear it," Arwen murmured knowingly. Shëanon grimaced but did not protest as she placed the circlet gingerly on her head, as vaguely surprised as she always was when it sat weightlessly about her temples. She tried to calm herself with the notion that she would hardly be looked at or noticed next to her sister. The Evenstar's beauty had an effect on all, and Shëanon was glad for it.

The two walked together to the main gate at the western side of the city; in the courtyard along the steps stood Lord Elrond and his sons. Elladan and Elrohir wore their formal patrol uniforms, the leather chest plates and gauntlets accompanied by the great swords at their belts, and Elrond donned billowing scarlet robes. Circlets adorned their foreheads as well, Shëanon observed, and they bore them with dignity and righteousness. She looked around nervously as she stepped up beside Elladan. A small crowd had gathered to either side of them; Glorfindel and Erestor stood nearby, but Aragorn and Gandalf were surprisingly absent. Shëanon's heart sank; their presence would have made her feel much less conspicuous.

"You look very pretty this morning, pen tithen," Elladan teased as she gazed uneasily around her. Shëanon craned her neck to glare at him; her head stood not even as tall as his shoulder. Elladan smiled. "Are you excited?"

"I supposed," she answered dryly.

Elladan looked down at her dubiously. His grey eyes, so much like his father's, were alight and Shëanon grew instantly suspicious.

"You suppose? Do not you always grumble about how boring it is to be stuck in Imladris?" he asked.

"I have never said that," Shëanon said defensively. She glanced quickly at her father's profile. His eyes were calm and focused ahead of him, but there was little chance that he wasn't listening. Shëanon cast her brother a dirty look.

"Have not you often expressed an interest to travel? I am sure that I remember you announcing your desire to look upon the Woodland Realm that was once the Greenwood. I am sure these messengers would love to speak with you about their home."

Shëanon blushed and looked away from him. She heard Elrohir laugh quietly from Elrond's other side and she wanted very badly to unsheathe her brother's sword and take a nice slash at them both. Unlike his twin, Elladan had a way of speaking so casually that no one else would know that he was making fun of her if they had heard his words, but Shëanon knew from experience that he employed the light tone of voice when he wanted to downplay his deliberate jabs at her. Elrohir was not usually so subtle. Indeed she did long to journey to the Woodland Realm, and to see the Grey Havens, and to look upon fair Lothlórien, and Elladan knew it well. He also knew, however, that she would never ask a Mirkwood messenger to tell her about his homeland.

Shëanon had always been very shy. She had always scorned attention and liked to keep to herself. She remembered that when she had first learned to shoot a bow as a child, she had refused to do so when her father had been watching. He told her later that he had watched in secret from afar, and after that her seven-year-old self had refused to so much as lift a bow for over a week, bashful to think that he might see. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she'd never had any other children to play with, but Shëanon always preferred to sit quietly by herself, tucked into a corner reading or out in the forest listening to nature. She was like Aragorn in this manner, and in many ways like Lord Elrond himself, but while they needed their solitude to ponder great matters like the many problems of Middle Earth, Shëanon was simply uneasy with too much company. As she had grown, she had become even more reserved, throwing herself into her training and her studies and spending long hours daydreaming about futures out of her reach. Elladan and Elrohir teased her ruthlessly about it.

"Leave the child be," Elrond said sternly to his son. "Our guests approach."

Shëanon looked up in surprise and saw that three riders were crossing the bridge at a gallop. They brought their snorting horses to a prance exactly as they reached the two carven pillars at the bridge's end; the great stone warriors that stood an eternal guard at the entrance to the city seemed to look down at them through their rock-hewn eyes, bidding them enter as they passed into the courtyard. Shëanon stared, entranced by the sight. The elves carried no banners. All of them were clad in plain green traveling cloaks, hoods pulled over what she could see was shining blond hair. Although she knew that they had ridden without rest, Shëanon could see no sign of weariness on their faces or in their posture; they looked as though they could ride forever and not tire. The front elf lowered his hood and dismounted agilely the moment his steed's hooves had come to a rest. He brought a hand to the creature's neck and murmured to it softly, and then he turned to face Lord Elrond. His features were very noble, Shëanon thought, and quite serious, but there was goodwill also in his expression. His shoulders were broad and strong as he approached the Lord of Imladris, a quiver and bow at his back. He stepped with confidence and grace.

A sudden, inexplicable feeling of unease and suspicion flitted across Shëanon's awareness, and she looked quickly at her father. Elrond had stepped forward; there was an unusual look in his eyes.

"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion," Elrond said, placing his hand on his heart and then extending his arm in welcome.

"My Lord Elrond," Legolas replied with a bow of his head.

Shëanon's eyes widened in surprise. She gaped, first at Legolas and then at her father and brothers. She thought that she must have heard wrong. No one else seemed at all surprised that the Prince of Mirkwood stood before them, but Shëanon had started in complete shock in hearing his name spoken; never had she imagined that the Elvenking would send his only son as a messenger. Finally remembering her manners, however, she hastily dropped her gaze.

"How was your journey here?" Elrond inquired, and to her astonishment, Shëanon now realized that the look on his face was very much like affection; indeed his wise eyes smiled as he beheld the elven prince.

"We traveled as swiftly as was possible," Legolas said solemnly. "We were fortunate that the weather did not betray us and that we encountered no other delay."

"Fortunate indeed," Elrond agreed.

"I seem to remember riding from Imladris to the Greenwood in six days' time," Elrohir interrupted suddenly. All eyes turned to him. "Tell me, Your Highness, how long did your journey take? Nine days, I think?"

Legolas raised his eyebrows. "Your memory is false, Elrondion, for I know that your journey lasted seven days and nights," he said coldly. "I have traveled for eight days to come here, but do not forget that for many miles the land east of the Hithaeglir slopes downward, and so you rode downhill for more than two days, but I have traveled uphill."

Everyone was quiet and Shëanon's eyes flickered anxiously from her brother's face to that of the proud elf before them, but just as her insides twisted with anxiety, Legolas smiled and her brothers began to laugh as she looked on in astonishment.

"Tell yourself what you must," Elrohir chuckled, and all sense of formality vanished. The other two representatives dismounted their horses and the gathered elves all grinned. Shëanon watched as Arwen went up to the Elvenprince, her porcelain skin gleaming in the early light, her face bathed in radiance. She leaned forward and placed a kiss upon his cheek.

"It is good to see you," she said with a soft smile, which Legolas returned.

"And you," he replied. He tilted his golden head and looked at her face, and then scanned the crowd around them. "And where is the Dúnadan?"

Arwen's smile widened.

"Who says that he is here?" she asked in her tinkling voice.

"Your face gives him away," Legolas said in an undertone. Suddenly he turned to face Shëanon. "Forgive me," he said politely. "I do not believe we have met."

Shëanon started. She opened her mouth to introduce herself, but faltered under his gaze. He looked at her so directly that suddenly she could not remember any word in any of the three languages that she spoke. She felt her face heat up, and the sound of Elladan's and Elrohir's quiet laughter only brought more blood to her face. Her relief was unparalleled as her father intervened.

"This is Shëanon, my daughter," he explained. "Shëanon, this is Legolas, Son of Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm. He comes to us in his father's stead to impart upon our Council his knowledge and opinions on the great matter at hand."

Still unable to speak, Shëanon bowed her head in reverence, but she looked up, surprised, as Legolas stepped forward and grasped her hand in his.

"My lady," he said cordially, and bent his head to kiss her hand. His lips seared her skin where they touched her knuckles. As he released her small fingers, she looked down at the ground. She had never been greeted in such a manner and she prayed that it did not show on her face.

"Come," Elrond said graciously. "I am sure that you are eager for rest, and I would speak with you before any others arrive," he added meaningfully.

The group ascended the smooth stone steps, first Elrond, then Legolas, and then the rest. Shëanon followed behind Arwen, but she slipped away as soon as she felt that it would not be noticed. She made a beeline for her room. On her way, however, she encountered Aragorn and Gandalf conversing quietly outside the kitchens. 'A suspicious place to congregate,' she thought darkly. She rounded on them and they looked over at her in surprise.

"Ah, Shëanon," the wizard greeted her with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. She paid him no mind; her embarrassment had driven her into irrational anger. Not only had Aragorn not mentioned that his friend was coming, he had also left her alone and at the mercy of the twins.

"The Mirkwood party has arrived," she said accusatorially.

"Have they, indeed?" Gandalf rumbled, with a look at Aragorn, who did not seem surprised.

"Yes," she spat, glowering at the ranger. Noticing her animosity, Aragorn's eyes widened with a bewilderment that angered Shëanon even more. "The Elvenking has sent his son to represent him," she growled venomously. "Your absence was noted."

With that, Shëanon turned and continued on her way, leaving the two standing in stunned silence. As she reached the end of the corridor, she heard Gandalf's voice behind her.

"She seemed angry," he stated lightly. Shëanon scoffed and turned a corner.

When she finally reached her chambers, she paced restlessly across the open space. No one had mentioned anything to her about Legolas; during the two weeks that they had spent awaiting his arrival, no one had so much as hinted that the Prince himself would be representing Mirkwood. If she had known, if she had been prepared, then she would not have made such a fool out of herself—she had been blindsided by his presence and it had caused her to embarrass herself. Shëanon huffed. She continued pacing for several moments, her gown dragging across the carpet, before she finally calmed down.

'I am overreacting,' she thought when her cheeks had stopped burning and her heart had stopped hammering. She sank onto the cushioned bench before the sill of one of her many windows and covered her face with her hands. Was it really so surprising that Thranduil had sent Legolas to speak for him at the council? Would not the king trust his son above any other to make important decisions in his stead? Shëanon knew that she was being ridiculous. How could she not have realized that the prince would be among the party? Who had she expected? Servants? The event had not been so terrible, she admitted to herself after a while, but it was enough to make her cringe to remember it. She had never been so taken aback as she had been there in the courtyard, and she had found it very disconcerting.

She sighed deeply. She knew that her speechlessness before the prince had not been the true source of her frustration. In her heart she knew that she had felt very out of place just then. _This is my daughter, Shëanon,_ Elrond had said. She had grimaced in her mind, knowing that it was not the truth, knowing that the elves of Mirkwood had known that it was not, could not be the truth- that she was not his daughter. She had felt very self-conscious and awkward with the knowledge that she stood to welcome guests to Imladris, but she was even more of an outsider than they. Her chest tightened. She raised her head.

Arwen had told her that the representatives from Gondor would soon be arriving as well, and she would surely be required to be there when they did. She hardened her resolve. Much as she wanted to, she could not change into something more comfortable and take to the forest or practice field until after she had greeted the next group of envoys, and greet them she would. Frowning, Shëanon ran a fingertip over the delicate rim of her circlet. A single sapphire glittered against her forehead—to match her eyes, as her father had told her.

She wondered now what Lord Elrond and Legolas needed to discuss; her father had made it clear that he wanted the conversation to be held before there could stand a chance of being overheard by Men. Mirkwood was plagued by much evil, she knew. She wondered if there was some pressing matter in regards to that. Not for the first time did Shëanon feel a great appreciation for the safety and peace that was the haven of Imladris. She had once known what it was to fear for her life, but although she often begged her father to send her out with the patrol, she could not conceptualize the danger and dread that was a home under siege, a nation at war. With a start, she realized that she might very soon be able to conceptualize it all too well. She rose from her seat. There may be a time to dwell on such petty matters as her own feelings of inadequacy, but just then was not it.

She went in search of her brothers and sister.

Shëanon was surprised to find that the 'party' from Gondor was but a single Man. He arrived some hours before nightfall in fine but travel-worn clothes. Emblazoned upon his chest was a white tree surrounded by stars, and Shëanon saw a strange horn hung at his hip. He looked about him with interest.

"Welcome Boromir, son of Denethor," Elrond said when the man came forth. "It is very well that you have come."

Boromir bowed graciously. "The Kingdom of Gondor shall bear witness to this council," he declared.

Although he came alone from Gondor, Boromir was not the last man to arrive for the council. Others came over the next few days, and elves from the Grey Havens to the west, and finally, on the day before the meeting was to be held, there came the dwarves of Erebor. Shëanon had been intrigued, for never had she seen a dwarf before, and she was unsure what to make of them. She noticed that they were friendly with the hobbits and Gandalf, and one spoke cordially with her father, but the others were distant and suspicious of the elves and of her. Dinner that night was a very strange thing; Shëanon thought idly that the hobbits and dwarves would eat them out of house and home, but greater things occupied her for most of the evening. She was not to attend the council in the morning, and though she longed to hear the tidings of the many strangers in her home and know the wisdom of her father, she did not this time scorn that she was to be excluded. The matter of the One Ring was beyond her, and she was not so small-minded that she believed otherwise.

Shëanon stayed in the Hall of Fire later than she ordinarily would have; the cavernous chamber had seen more activity in those recent weeks than ever before in the years that she had lived in Imladris. Finally, when all the hobbits had fallen asleep and only some minstrels and some lingering elves remained before the shining flames of the hearth, Shëanon retired.

The long corridors of the house were dark and quiet as she made her way to her room; the air was still and the torches extinguished, but Shëanon could sense that few in the valley were asleep. The time for rest was almost past and on the morrow the future of Middle Earth was to be decided. The council had been a daunting weight in her chest that only grew as the days had elapsed. Would there be a battle? A war? Aragorn would almost certainly be lost to her again, and Elladan and Elrohir, too. The thought made her stomach turn, for she knew that they were already caught up in the Ring's fate. Her father also, the Lord of Imladris and bearer of the ring Vilya, was a formidable warrior of immense strength and terrible wrath, mighty among both Elves and Men. Indeed, peoples of all races were in Rivendell at that very moment to seek his advice; he was certainly at the heart of the matter. Would he leave his realm? Would he lead his people, his sons, into almost certain doom? It seemed frighteningly likely to her—a history repeating itself. The Herald of Gil-galad had marched before against the armies of Mordor. Could there be any other way this time?

Shëanon did not know, and she tried not to think about it. She was half-surprised to find herself before her bedroom door, so lost in thought she had been. She stepped inside silently and closed the door behind her. Without bothering to light a candle, she cast aside her gown and pulled on her nightclothes: a long, loose-fitting shirt and warm leggings of the softest material. The familiar fabrics against her body were comforting as she climbed into her bed. There was no moon on that night, but she could just make out the tiny pinpricks of stars through the sheer drapes that stretched across the windows, veils between her and the night.

She had not been tired as she left the hall, but Shëanon suddenly found that she could hardly keep her eyes open. Her lids were heavy, her limbs like lead upon the soft, down mattress. A fog filled her mind, blurring her vision, and there was a rushing in her ears, but even so she perceived shadows in the night. Soon, she was overcome by exhaustion. She closed her eyes.

_Shëanon knew only darkness. She was cold and alone and she knew not where she was. She tried to call out, but she found she had no voice._

_ "You are afraid," a voice whispered in her mind. "Who are you? Who are you?"_

_ Shëanon did not answer, but indeed her fear was like ice in her blood._

_ "Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?" the voice asked, a caress against her consciousness._

_ "Where is what? What do you want?" she cried, blind and terrified._

_ "You know what I want," the voice breathed. "Where is it?"_

_ Again Shëanon did not answer, her heart full of horror. Suddenly the darkness was gone and instead there was a bright, terrible light. Instead of coldness, her body burned, her flesh blistered with a long-forgotten pain. Fire, fire everywhere. The flames were all around her. They licked at her arms and legs, her face. She felt that they sought to consume her._

_ "WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS IT?"_

_ She was screaming, thrashing, fighting uselessly. The fire was in her very mind; she burned from the inside out…_

Shëanon jolted awake, screaming still, the sound ringing in her ears. She was tangled in her bed sheets, flailing but unable to break free, her entire body soaked in sweat. Her door burst open just as she was finally able to sit up, a light falling across her face.

Her father had come in, she realized. She saw his face before her and heard his frantic voice, and the voices of others, but the words were lost to her. She leaned over the side of the bed and vomited onto the floor. Her body trembled still.

_Translations:_

_Hithaeglir- Misty Mountains (Mountains of Mist)_

_Mae Govannen- Well met/ Welcome_


	4. Chapter 4

Aiër- Chapter Three

Shëanon's fingers gripped the edge of her mattress as her stomach continued to heave. She felt hands pulling her air out of her face, rubbing her back.

"Shut the door!" came Lord Elrond's sharp voice from very close to her ear. Her stomach was empty but she was retching, her body convulsing. She gasped for breath and lay down her head for a moment, feeling dizzy and dazed. She could still see the flames of her nightmare when she closed her eyes, as if the image had been burned into her eyelids. Finally, she sat up.

Her father knelt on the bed beside her, his gaze intense. With a grip like iron he brought his hands to her shoulders.

"What happened?" he demanded. The severity of his tone frightened her. She shrank away from him; her mind was still reeling and she still half-felt the fire on her flesh. In her disoriented state her father's voice sounded for an instant like the horrible hiss that had echoed in her head only moments before and she stared at him with wide eyes. He frowned.

"Shëanon?" he asked, this time more gently. Worry lined his face, furrowed his brow. Shëanon suddenly realized that someone had lit candles, for a warm light illuminated the room and flickered in her father's eyes. She looked up and saw Aragorn, Elrohir, and Glorfindel standing behind him at the foot of the bed. They were all watching her closely and with a rush of clarity, she realized that they must have come running at the sound of her screams. She blushed deeply, remembering how she had been sick on the floor, and pulled her blankets closer to her soaked body. She glanced back at her father, who was looking at her expectantly. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, wondering what she could possibly give as an explanation.

"I don't know what happened," she admitted nervously; to her chagrin she found that her voice was shaky and strained. Her throat burned. "I-I was having… I had a nightmare."

Lord Elrond stared at her, scrutinizing her face. "A nightmare?" he repeated. Shëanon nodded her head and looked down at the bed. She had had many nightmares before—they had plagued her sleep as a child—but never had they caused her to scream out and get sick and cause such a scene. She shivered; her sweat dried like ice on her skin.

"What was the nightmare about?" Elrond asked gravely. She could feel his eyes on her still and she shifted nervously. She was tempted to make something up; not only did her dream seem a foolish thing to make such a fuss about but also in her heart she was very afraid to relive it- in memory or in words. Only because she did not dare lie to her father did she force herself to answer him.

"It- There was darkness. Darkness and then fire," she whispered. Tears burned at her eyes as she spoke, tendrils of fear and doubt snaking up her spine. It had been so terrible, felt so real. "And a voice."

"What did the voice say?"

Shëanon shook her head. To her horror, she felt a wetness on her face and she hastily wiped at her eyes. A cold breeze blew suddenly through the room, the curtains swaying and reaching towards her threateningly. _Who are you? Where is it?_

"It asked who I am. It was looking for something, but I would not answer and the fire," she choked, "I was burning in the fire, drowning in it, and I felt…"

"What did you feel?" Elrond asked, his sturdy voice low and sober. Suddenly Shëanon wept.

"I felt a siege upon my mind," she cried, "like many cruel fingers attempting to pry into my thoughts, to sever my will." She sobbed and looked at her father desperately, his face blurry through her tears. He said nothing as he regarded her, and then he rose abruptly and strode towards the door.

"Adar?" she cried from the bed, alarmed, but Elrond merely opened the door and whispered urgently to whom she saw was Elladan standing in the doorway. Her brother nodded and then Elrond turned and approached the bed once more.

"We must discuss this further, but not here," he explained, seeing her panic. His face was stern and impassive in the dim light of the room, but in his eyes Shëanon caught the flicker of an unrecognizable expression. "Come."

Without hesitation, Shëanon scrambled from her bed and followed him from the chamber; the floor was cold under her bare feet and the air was chill upon her clammy skin. Elladan was no longer in the hallway, but as they passed through the house, she was aware of other people lurking around corners and talking suspiciously and nervously in doorways. She grimaced, knowing that she had woken them.

As she had expected, Elrond led them into his study and closed the door. Shëanon saw a figure standing in the shadows on the far side of the room and she jumped, but to her relief it was only Gandalf. He appeared to have been waiting for them.

"Sit down, hên nín," Elrond murmured, gesturing to the divan in the middle of the room. Shëanon did as she was bidden and lowered herself onto it, glad to be off her shaking legs. Her father poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on the table beside her and placed it wordlessly in her hands; she held it in her lap but did not drink, though her throat ached from her shrieking and weeping.

Gandalf had moved from where he had stood in the corner and now he leaned upon his staff before the fireplace. The light of the flames threw his lined face into relief; he looked ancient and troubled as he peered at Lord Elrond, whose only answer was a glare. Shëanon watched her father turn away and stride to the window, resting one hand against the sill and remaining still and silent for many moments. Stars, glittering far away in the night sky, were a wreath around the dark figure that was his body and Shëanon found the sight inexplicably unsettling.

She looked around her uneasily, waiting for someone to speak, to explain. She was cold and anxious and her head was pounding and the silence was painful and strained. Aragorn and Elrohir both stood behind her; she could hear their quiet, steady breathing. One of them put a hand upon her head and she knew whose it was without turning.

"There is much unrest now," Gandalf said at last. "And distrust."

"That is no surprise," said Glorfindel evenly. "All of Imladris was awoken and now wonders if some evil has come here while they slept; I myself half-expected to find a Nazgûl attacking from the shadows, though well I knew that it was impossible."

Shëanon bowed her head in shame.

"The dwarves were wary indeed," agreed the wizard with a nod. "They took up arms and were most reluctant to set them back down."

"What is being told to them?" Aragorn asked quietly, the sound soothing to her ears. His hand had moved to her shoulder.

"Only that there is no cause for alarm," Gandalf answered. "Which even I think is not the truth," he added, now turning his gaze to Shëanon's face. His eyes were more fiery than she had ever seen them.

At this remark Lord Elrond finally turned. "The dwarves have nothing to worry about in this," he said resentfully, and Shëanon shuddered as he looked at her again.

"I do not understand," she said anxiously. "What is happening?" It seemed to her that everyone looked at her with pity and her stomach was in knots.

"That was not any nightmare, Shëanon," Elrond said plainly. "That was the Enemy in your mind, as I think you already know."

"But how?" She asked desperately. She had indeed suspected that it was the Dark Lord whose voice she had heard, for the terrible evil and fear she had felt in her was beyond belief. "And why?"

"He sought information about the ring, you said nearly as much yourself."

"But why me, of all people?" she asked in despair. "I know nothing, I am no one! Why did he not attack Frodo, or even Bilbo or the others? I—"

"It was not Sauron's doing," Elrond interrupted, taking a step closer to the fire.

"But you just said—"

"I said that it was Sauron's voice that you heard," Elrond said sharply. "But Sauron did not seek you out, and I doubt he even knew you exist."

Shëanon blinked at him, confused. What did he mean Sauron had not sought her out? She turned to glance up at Aragorn and Elrohir, but if they understood what was going on, their faces did not show it; they looked fixedly at her father.

"How then did his voice come to be in my head if he did not make it so?" Shëanon asked apprehensively.

"You did that yourself," said Elrond.

Shëanon said nothing, shocked. Her mouth had gone dry but the glass of water she still held was forgotten as she frantically tried to think of what her father was talking about. Was he suggesting that she had invited Sauron into herself? She wracked her brain but came up short. Under his large, bushy eyebrows, she could see that Gandalf had closed his eyes, and Aragorn's hand tightened around her shoulder.

"But I didn't…"

"You did, Shëanon. You reached out with your Sight and found the One Ring, and Sauron himself inside it, and thus he gained entry to your mind."

"I didn't! I swear!" she beseeched him, shaking once more, but the voice was echoing sinisterly, ominously in her memory: _Who are you? Who are you? _Dread seized her. "I don't even know how to do that!"

At this Elrond looked at her incredulously. "Do you not? How then do you think you were able to see Aragorn at Amon Sûl?" he asked her harshly.

Shëanon flinched, for to her knowledge, only Aragorn and her father had known about that vision and she did not like the others to know. She hesitated. "You said that I see what the Valar want me to see," she whispered, though she was now uncertain and unnerved.

"Indeed, none see anything if the Valar do not wish it," Elrond said grimly. "But in that instance, the Valar were not showing you a glimpse of the future, Shëanon; you did not foresee it. You saw it while it happened. You sought out Aragorn with your mind and so you found him, just as tonight you found the Enemy. Many times I have felt you push against my consciousness, and many times I have had to bar you from my mind."

Shëanon looked at him in horror and disbelief. "But I didn't know!" she cried, now almost hysterical. "I didn't mean to do it! I wasn't trying to!"

Elrond's face finally softened; his eyes became compassionate and remorseful.

"Hên nín, I know that you did not mean to," he said tenderly, and at this Shëanon began to cry once more, but now the tears were different. She buried her face in her hands, completely overwhelmed and at a loss. She felt movement beside her, and then strong arms enfolded her and she was pulled against her father's chest. She kept her eyes closed, relishing the comfort and security of her father's embrace; so long had it been since she had allowed him to hold her like this that she had forgotten how safe it made her feel, how loved. He waited patiently while she wept, but she cried all the more for his affection. Several moments passed.

"What does this mean?" she sniffled when she had regained some of her composure.

"I fear that Sauron is now aware of you," Lord Elrond sighed, the sound of his voice a deep rumble against her ear as she leaned against his chest. "But even I do not yet know what will happen."

Shëanon lay down on the divan and stayed there through the remainder of the night, listening to the low conversation of her father and brothers and friends. The fact that Sauron the Deceiver had been in her mind, trying to force his way into her thoughts, disgusted her. She felt violated and contaminated, but also guilty and ashamed and very angry because it had been her doing, her fault. She would have gone to be alone, to reflect on everything in privacy, but her father had ordered her to stay where she was and even if he had not, she found that she was frightened and paranoid. As a result, she dared not close her eyes even just to alleviate the burning in them, for she was afraid of what might happen if she let her concentration slip even for a moment away from the present. Never before had she felt that she could not trust herself, and the thought added to her emotional exhaustion.

Elladan appeared at one point, and Shëanon listened as he spoke lowly to the others. The Dwarves, he said, had threatened to leave if someone did not tell them what was going on, and their loud suspicion had perturbed the Men. Even the Elves were worried, for they had all sensed the evil presence in their home.

Aragorn left the study then, and Glorfindel, and Gandalf went to check on the hobbits. Shëanon stared blankly, miserably at the wall before her as Elrond and Elrohir explained in more detail to Elladan what he had had only a very brief, whispered account of earlier in the night. The room grew slowly lighter as the night waned; somewhere around dawn, Arwen entered and sat by Shëanon's head. She said nothing, but occasionally she ran her fingers though Shëanon's hair.

Not long after, Elrond came again before her; Erestor had just left. Shëanon looked at him blankly.

"There are matters that I must attend to," Lord Elrond said quietly. Shëanon could hear all the thousands of years of his life in his voice just then. "You should go and dress and eat; it is not long now until the Council."

She felt her brow crease. "You told me that I am not to go to the Council," she said slowly.

"This problem now concerns you," he said firmly. "Go and dress."

At midmorning, Shëanon walked with Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir to the great balcony that lay at one end of the Hall of Fire. Bells rang as they approached, a warning that the Council of Elrond was soon to commence. As she stepped down onto the balcony, she saw that many seats had been arranged in a wide semicircle facing three carven, high-backed chairs; on one sat her father, and Elladan and Elrohir occupied the two on either side of him. They were images of power and wisdom, Elrond and his sons. She glanced hesitantly at Aragorn, unsure where she belonged, and was relieved when he indicated the seat right beside him at the very end of the semicircle, close to Elladan.

Moments later, others began to arrive. The Dwarves came in all at once, she noted, clearly eager to have their choice of seats; they sat at the very top of the circular arch, directly across from Elrond, and looked around expectantly. It was clear to Shëanon as more guests crowded in that each race had the same idea, intent on all being seated together and wary of the other peoples. The group of Men filled the space between Aragorn and the Dwarves, and the Elves sat on their other side. Among them were Erestor and Glorfindel and her father's advisors, Galdor and the Elves of the Grey Havens, and Legolas and his two Woodland companions. Then there were only three empty seats left, directly across from Shëanon and closest to Elrohir. As they waited for the last few to arrive, the Dwarves and Men sat quietly muttering to one another. The Elves sat straight and silent, and Shëanon sat biting her lip and trying to look like she belonged there. Indeed, several eyes had glanced curiously her way. She wondered who knew that it had been her screaming in the night.

When her father had told her to go dress, she had been unsure of what to wear; she normally dressed in one of her flowing gowns for dinner and wore leggings and a tunic during other hours. In the end her desire to blend in and be comfortable had swayed her towards leggings, though she wore her finest pair with a tunic of rich, silky material. She had not, however, worn her circlet and although she saw that her father and brothers wore theirs, she was glad of her decision.

Leaves spiraled off of surrounding branches and some were blown about the flagstones at their feet; the day was cool, but not unpleasantly so, and the sun was warm and shone upon them. Just when Shëanon could tell that some were growing impatient, there was a bustle from behind her and Gandalf, Frodo, and Bilbo Baggins came in and claimed the last three chairs. There were exactly enough seats, Shëanon observed and knew that her father had had to add one for her. She looked in consternation at the polished wood under her hands and then, finally, Lord Elrond rose and addressed the Council.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it; you will unite or you will fall," he said in a clear, commanding voice as he looked at those assembled before him. She could tell that even the dwarves were giving him their undivided attention. There was a short, intense silence during which these words were absorbed.

Suddenly a man leaned forward and spoke. "What exactly is this destruction of which you speak? Mordor threatens, yes, but Mordor has always threatened. Why do you call a council now?" he asked. There was some muttering at this, but heads that had turned to look at him turned quickly back to Elrond, whose eyebrows had risen. He seemed to consider for a moment, and then he turned to the hobbits.

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo," he said, and Shëanon watched, startled, as the hobbit slowly stood and placed the One Ring on the low pedestal that had been placed in the center of the semicircle. For some reason, she had not expected the ring to be put on display for all to see; was it not an object of great evil and terrible temptation? Indeed many people around the circle made sounds of surprise and shock, and some leaned forward in their chairs to stare at the gold band. It was deceptively ordinary-looking, she observed, but it also seemed eerily alive, as though it perceived that it was being looked at and was looking back. She did not like it at all, and yet she felt captivated by it. Shëanon tore her gaze away, disquieted and repulsed, for the night's events were still fresh in her mind. Frodo Baggins went back to his seat.

"This is the purpose for which I have called you here," Elrond said gravely, recalling everyone from the trance that the ring had imposed upon them. "Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom."

Shëanon listened carefully as he spoke of the rings of power, of Celebrimbor and of Sauron and of the One Ring. She looked at her hands as he described the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, knowing that the tale was a first-hand recollection. Finally, he spoke of Isildur, and then fell silent.

"So it is true," breathed Boromir of Gondor. "Isildur's bane has been found."

"It has," Elrond affirmed, and then the council heard for the first time the fate of the ring after the fateful moment in which it had seemingly fallen out of history. Gandalf now told them of the creature Gollum, and then Bilbo and Frodo in turn gave their accounts of the story, how the ring had come to pass to each of them, and how it came to be in Imladris. Aragorn had already told Shëanon most of it, but some of the details were new to her.

"And this Gollum, you say, is now imprisoned?" asked Boromir pensively. He sat on the edge of his seat.

"He is," nodded Gandalf.

"Alas, he is not," Legolas interjected, speaking for the first time. All eyes swiveled to him.

"Not?" Gandalf asked in surprise, leaning forward to look at Legolas more directly.

"No. He has escaped," the elf said grimly, and Shëanon knew that her shock was plain on her face. Escaped?! She looked first at Aragorn beside her, who she knew had been the one to capture the creature and personally deliver him to Mirkwood, and then at her father, but it was clear that they had both been aware of this dark news before. She remembered suddenly the words her father had spoken but days earlier: _I would speak with you before any others arrive._ She suspected she now knew exactly what Elrond had wanted to discuss with Thranduil's son. She brought her gaze reluctantly back to Legolas, who was explaining how a pack of orcs had descended upon his guards and Gollum had vanished in the chaos. The prince's story was diplomatic and his face betrayed no emotion, but she could sense his regret and concern, and even some bitterness. He clearly did not like to tell of Mirkwood's failure to keep such an important prisoner. She looked away from him, for she felt that her face had grown hot.

As the council continued, it became clear that Legolas was not the only one who had come with evil tidings. Shëanon was horrified as Glóin the Dwarf told his tale; that the Enemy sought them out on their doorstep, asking questions about the hobbits and offering rings of power, disturbed her greatly. The Men too had troubles to speak of, and her heart grew heavier with every word of orc raids and burned villages. She had known that Gondor was strained under the onslaught of evil that it faced, for it lay so close to Mordor, but Boromir described entire cities abandoned and forsaken and a land overcome by darkness. Finally, Gandalf revealed that Saruman the White had joined forces with Sauron, and she could have cried aloud in her despair. She could see now how truly sheltered she had been, for she had never realized the severity of the world's plight.

"But what proof," asked Galdor slowly, "is there that this is the One Ring?"

Shëanon's brows rose. Although she could see that the elf did not want to believe that such evil was once again upon them, she did not see how the ring's true nature could be called into question. How could it be anything other than the ring to rule them all?

"Are not all these tidings proof of what it is?" asked Gandalf, bristling under his silver beard. "Why else would the Nine have pursued Frodo? Why else would the Dark Lord beseech the Dwarves to aid him? Saruman himself, the wisest of our order, is sure of what this ring is. There is no question. It is the One Ring, and it is altogether evil."

"It is a gift!" protested Boromir abruptly. "A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe!" he cried, rising from his seat and pacing before the ambassadors of Middle Earth. "Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy! Let us use it against him!"

Shëanon was taken aback by this. Was it not already proven that the One Ring served none but the Dark Lord? Her father had just explained how Isildur met his doom as a result of such thinking.

"You cannot wield it," Aragorn said firmly. Shëanon was relieved to see that he too was looking at Boromir with disbelief and wariness. Something in his voice and face flashed. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone; it has no other Master."

Boromir scoffed, his eyes cold but wild in his determination. "And what does a ranger know of this matter?" he asked arrogantly.

Fury flashed like lightning through Shëanon and but for Aragorn's hand on her harm, she might have risen. Well she knew that Aragorn was by right the man's king. Her grip tightened on the arms of her chair as a result of her indignation.

"This is no mere ranger," Legolas cut in, rising now himself. His features were hard and his tone severe. "He is Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance," he said coldly.

"Aragorn?" he laughed, though it was a slightly nervous sound. "This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the Throne of Gondor," Legolas said icily, and Shëanon felt a sudden rush of warmth and gratification towards him, satisfied by his steadfast defense of Aragorn. She looked back now at Boromir, smug and spiteful and glad to see that he looked angry and stunned, but Aragorn's fingers tightened around her forearm and he spoke again from beside her.

"Havo dad, Legolas," he said quietly, and for a moment the elf's gaze was steely upon his friend, but then he turned and sat, tall and proud in his seat.

Boromir watched him sit with a shadow over his face. "Gondor has no king," he said resentfully. "Gondor needs no king."

There was a drawn out, uncomfortable silence during which all that was heard was the rustling of dead leaves. The Men had grown restless and awkward in the wake of the exchange, the Elves haughty and severe. Bilbo Baggins muttered what sounded suspiciously like 'greedy line of glorified custodians." Shëanon bit her lip to hide her smirk. Finally, Gandalf spoke again.

"Aragorn is right," he said calmly. "We cannot use it."

"You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed." Elrond said with finality. The silence returned, but it was now dense with apprehension and foreboding.

"Then what are we waiting for?" growled one of the dwarfs, and Shëanon jumped as he lifted a great axe and brought it down upon the pedestal; the axe broke and the dwarf was thrown back by some great force, his kinsmen hastening to pull him up from among the jagged pieces of shattered metal. The ring was unscathed.

"The ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, Son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess," Elrond explained patiently. "The ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," said Boromir. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust; the very air that you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" Legolas asked angrily. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

Gimli son of Glóin took once more to his feet. "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" he accused caustically.

"And if we fail what then?" Boromir asked heatedly. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!" the dwarf cried with passion, and suddenly everyone was on their feet. The Elves and Dwarves had rounded on each other, years of prejudice spewing from their mouths; Legolas threw out his arms to restrain his two companions, who were yelling in Sindarin, while the Men argued over the voices of the other two races.

"No one trust an Elf!" shouted Gimli, and the other dwarves all roared.

Gandalf stood as well, brandishing his staff and demanding order, but the pandemonium only grew. "You fools! Stop this at once or you'll all be destroyed!"

"And what of Minas Tirith?! It is us who will suffer!"

"If there is to be victory, it will come only through the efforts of the Eldar!"

"Sauron's power grows!"

"Swarms of orcs! Fields of blood!"

"Your greed has started all of this!"

"_Cuiach erui na galu od Ilúvatar, Aulëhîn_!"

"LOCKED ME IN A DUNGEON!"

Shëanon looked around, wide-eyed and slightly alarmed, at the ensuing riot. Beside her Aragorn was shaking his head, exasperated. Elrond sat as still as a statue in his chair, watching the mess in front of him. She could see that although he was displeased, he was not at all surprised and he seemed to be waiting for the upheaval to die down on its own; it seemed petty even to her, and she would have stood up and shouted as well, shouted for everyone to be quiet and focus on the matter at hand, but she knew that her voice yelling atop the others would only cause more anger. She glanced up at the sun, wondering how long the argument would last, when a voice came over all the others.

"I will take it!" shouted Frodo Baggins. He had been the only other person not to stand and join in the quarrel. Everyone turned to look at him in surprise. "I will take the ring to Mordor," he said when there was quiet once more, "Though… I do not know the way."

Shëanon did not know what to make of this, and so she looked to her father, but the Elf Lord's face remained as stern and impassive as ever. He too seemed to be considering the hobbit, who stood grim-faced and nervous but firm before the speechless peoples of the council.

Gandalf stepped forward and placed his wizened hand on the small creature's shoulder. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," he said, "as long as it is yours to bear."

Shëanon was filled by a new fear at the sound of this proclamation. She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming, and when she opened them it was to watch sorrowfully as Aragorn rose from his seat. To her dismay but not surprise, he walked up to Frodo and went down on his knee.

"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will," he swore, his noble face lit with determination and truth. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," said Legolas, coming forth as well.

"And my axe!" announced Gimli with much spirit, although he and Legolas eyed each other scornfully.

Shëanon suddenly felt a burning in her, a whisper in her mind. She thought of all that she had just learned, of all the terrors that the world was facing. She thought of all the days that she had felt lost and useless and restless, and she thought of Aragorn and Gandalf going willingly into great danger. Most of all, however, she thought of Frodo Baggins, how innocent of heart he was, and how daring and selfless it was of him to take such a burden upon himself when none would have asked it of him. She remembered how he had been when Arwen had borne him out of the river and into her father's care, so close to a fate worse than death, and as she looked at the resolution on his clear face before her, she knew that she now stood at what was the greatest crossroad of her young life. She hesitated.

As her thoughts raced, Boromir of Gondor stepped forward, his face once again fair and kind.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one," he said and looked directly into Frodo's eyes. "If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."

Emotion churned inside her until Shëanon thought she would burst, and she felt as though the earth itself was willing her to stand, and finally she felt so compelled that she too rose from her seat and stepped forward. She was aware that the eyes of those around her were wide with disbelief and even with discouragement, but nonetheless she spoke.

"I too will go with you," she said quietly to Frodo, her heart pounding but her voice mercifully steady. "And I will help you in any way that I can," she vowed. She did not look at anyone; from the corner of her eye she saw that Elrohir had risen and she could feel his disapproval acutely, his eyes boring into her. Just when she feared that Lord Elrond would intervene, there came a shout from the bushes.

"Mister Frodo isn't going anywhere without me!" cried Samwise Gamgee, hurrying to Frodo's side.

"We're coming, too!" called another voice, and everyone turned to see Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took jump from behind a pillar and scurry over to their friends. "You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!"

The hobbits all looked earnestly at Lord Elrond, for it was clear to everyone that the final decision was his. Sam's face was pleading but also resolved, and Merry and Pippin looked both confident and excited as everyone else reeled with the many turns of event. Shëanon finally looked at her father, her heart in her throat. She watched his eyes rove the crowd of many strained faces, and then consider those who had come forth to stand by Frodo. He studied the hobbits for a moment and Shëanon caught Gandalf winking; she could see that her father would relent where they were concerned.

"So be it," he said. In his voice she could hear his resignation, but as he turned at last to look into her eyes she saw iron in his will and anger in his eyes and she knew that he would soon deal with her alone. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

When it was clear that the Council was ended, the gathered people immediately broke into conversation, making exclamations and remarks and chattering to those around them, but Shëanon heard none of it, for she stood frozen before Lord Elrond. She burned under his gaze and held her breath as she waited for him to speak. Elladan and Elrohir were on either side of him, looking at her as they never had before; with a jolt she recognized the same fire that had smoldered in their eyes after their brush with the Nazgûl.

"Shëanon," Elrond said coldly, his voice low and dangerous under the newly arisen commotion. Shëanon lifted her chin, though she trembled slightly.

"Come with me," he ordered in the same terrible tone, "Now." He glared at her for a moment longer and then turned and strode away. Shëanon followed immediately, for she dared not disobey, and she knew that her father knew it. Elladan and Elrohir stepped after them, and she could hear that others followed behind, but she did not look to see who, for instinct would not permit her to turn her back to her father.

Shëanon had expected him to lead her once more to his study, and so she was surprised when Elrond marched past the heavy wooden door. Her anxiety increased with her every step. As Elrond strode outside and up a stone staircase, Shëanon's stomach dropped. Their destination was the cavernous stone chamber that stood over the city, and she eyed the great domed ceiling and elaborate stone pillars with fear; she knew that only very important matters were brought there and even though the building was completely open to the air, with arcades and stone columns standing in the place of actual walls, the rushing of the waterfall beside it and the isolated location would mean that there was no chance that they would be overheard. Shëanon shuddered, knowing that that was why Elrond brought her there. Her limbs were like lead as she mounted the stairs behind him; the climb seemed to last a lifetime.

The circular chamber was empty but for a stone table and the chairs that stood around it. Lord Elrond grabbed one and pulled it into the center of the room. Shëanon sat without waiting to be told and watched tensely as Elrond began pacing back and forth before her. Elladan and Elrohir had come in behind her, and Gandalf crossed to the table and sank into a chair himself. Aragorn leaned against a pillar at the very edge of the room and she could sense that he was there to listen but not speak. After several moments of pacing, Elrond stopped and looked at her.

"Do you have any idea of the position you have put me in?" he asked her, his voice low and hard. Shëanon cringed and said nothing; never had she made her father so angry. She did not know how to comport herself. "You are not going."

Finally, the words she had been expecting. They stung.

"Yes, I am," she said as calmly as she could manage. She folded her arms over herself in an effort to keep her limbs from shaking.

"You are not, and that is final," Elrond said sharply, his powerful voice intimidating under the vaulted ceiling.

"But Adar—"

"Silence!" he barked, his anger now plain on his face.

"Let the child speak, Elrond," Gandalf murmured from the table, but his expression was also severe.

"There is nothing that she can say," he said sternly, his eyes flashing in the wizard's direction.

"Adar, I want to help," Shëanon said, in earnest. Elrond turned back to her, his expression formidable and resolute in the afternoon light, and for the first time she felt that she spoke not to her father but to the Lord of Imladris.

"This is not for you to worry about, Shëanon," he said seriously, his grey eyes piercing, his gaze penetrating.

"You are the one who said that this matter concerns me," she said through gritted teeth, for now her temper had begun to rise and her emotions were tumultuous inside her. "I live in this world, too. This is as much my problem as it is anyone's!"

"You are a child," Elrond said dismissively, shaking his head. The words were like a slap to her face; she knew that he'd hit a nerve, for now she felt a rush of long-repressed anger in her heart.

"I am not a child," she fumed. "I would be considered an adult in the World of Men—"

"But you are not in the World of Men," Elrond cut across her. "And among the Eldar you are a child."

"I am half human," she spat, and she was vaguely aware that she had never before said it aloud.

"You have human blood in your veins but you are an Elf nonetheless," Elrond said angrily. "And you are staying in Imladris!"

"But I could help!" she cried, now unable to keep herself from jumping to her feet. "Aside from Legolas, my senses are sharper than those of the others! I could see and hear what they could not! I am more than skilled with blade and bow! I can fight, and you know it! I could defend Frodo! And more than once have I had visions to do with this matter! Adar, please!"

"No."

"I am meant to go, I know it!"

"This is nonsense," Elrohir snarled from beside her. "Sit down!"

"The child speaks reason," said Gandalf sharply. "I do not see why she should not go on this journey."

"She will not go because I forbid it!" Elrond growled.

"It may well be the will of the Valar."

"I do not care if Ilúvatar himself has ordained it," Elrond snapped at the wizard. "She is not going!"

"That's not fair!" Shëanon cried, her eyes burning with tears of frustration.

"I do not have to be fair."

"You're letting the hobbits go!" Shëanon yelled, furious and hurt.

"Those are the Hobbits!" Elrond shouted, losing his composure at last. "You are my daughter!"

"No, I'm not! I am not your daughter, and you are not my father!" she screamed.

Elrond stared at her, stunned, and Shëanon regretted her words immediately. There was a ringing silence, broken only by the splashing sound of water on rock.

"Am I not?" Elrond asked at last, looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. His voice was quiet and fierce and Shëanon bowed her head, ashamed. "Have I not been a father to you? Did I not take you in, raise you, give you a home and a family? Have I not loved you as I love my own children?"

Tears ran hot down Shëanon's face. "I did not mean it," she whispered, "I'm sorry. But I must go! I must help; I must do something! I have no purpose here. I cannot sit here any longer and do nothing. It kills me," she wept. She was frightened by the desperation in her own voice. "Please, Adar."

No one spoke, but Shëanon did not have the will to look up from the ground. She wiped at her eyes futilely.

There was suddenly an arm around her shoulders.

"I would look after her," Aragorn said solemnly. She heard Elrohir swear under his breath.

Shëanon sobbed. Everyone waited.

"Very well," Elrond said at last, tonelessly. "Go prepare yourselves. You leave at dawn."

With that he stepped past her and swept from the room.

_Translations:_

_Adar- father_

_Hên ní__n- my child_

_Havo dad- Sit down_

_Cuiach erui na galu od Ilúvatar, Aulëhîn!- Only by Ilúvatar's mercy do you live, children of Aulë! (That's right, I went there! coughRACIST ELVEScough)_

A/N: Hello, everyone! First of all, thank you so much to those of you who are reading! I'd like to apologize for going so deeply into the Council of Elrond and I hope it wasn't too drawn out. I kind of got carried away and I felt like what I included was important for the purpose of characterization, particularly for Shëanon and I guess for Boromir.  
Also, I received a request that I include in text translations of the Elvish instead of putting it at the bottom of the chapter. The reason that I didn't do that before is that I feel like it kind of interrupts the story and most of the Elvish that I use is repeated several times and is not very important to the dialogue (hên nín, penneth, etc.) If everyone would rather I translate as I go, however, I will definitely do so! Let me know!  
Thanks again for the feedback! This is probably one of the longest notes I'll ever tack on here, lol.


	5. Chapter 5

Aiër- Chapter Four

Shëanon lay on her back on her bed, her eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. It was just past midnight and her mind was racing as she reflected on the events of the day.

When her father had stormed away from her earlier, his harsh words ringing in her ears, Shëanon had stood in a stunned silence for several moments, tears still falling from her eyes. She could feel the eyes of the others watching her closely, but she had hurried down the steps in her father's wake before anyone could speak. She had not wanted any company, and so she had turned off the path back to the house and instead took to the trees. Perched on a thick branch high above the ground, she had passed the remainder of the day listening to the sound of the wood creaking with the wind as she tried to process what had happened.

For all intents and purposes, Shëanon had won; her father was not going to stop her from leaving with the rest of the company in the morning, but she found that she did not feel at all satisfied. Long had she begged Lord Elrond to send her out on patrol with her brothers, for her desire to help others and take aim at the evil that plagued the world was very strong and her heart was now bursting with the will to see the One Ring destroyed. Despite her conviction in this, however, she also felt that her shoulders were burdened by regret. Her father's opinion was extremely important to her and she had always striven to make him proud. She had applied herself to her studies with such fervor that she had often taken to shutting herself in the library to read all night, poring over volumes of history and literature until she could recite entire works of poetry and give accurate accounts of all the ages since the making of the world. She had pushed herself so hard on the practice field that she had all but crossed the line between passion and obsession: such was her desire to master the weapons she had taken up. She had even dabbled in music and art; she had crammed as much into the few years of her life as had been physically possible, and all to earn her father's pride. Desperately, Shëanon wanted to prove that she was worthy of his love. More than that, Shëanon's respect for her father was unequaled, and consequently she was terribly upset that she did not have his approval in what she would set out to do.

She had fidgeted in the tree, grappling with her conflicted emotions. In the end, however, her will to do good was stronger than her yearning for Lord Elrond's affection. Morally, she felt that there was no question. She had been rescued from evil and suffering and given a life of safety and peace; she had been blessed by the Valar. Who was she if she did not then try to do the same for others? It was her duty to try to repay this fortune, to do all that she could to save Middle Earth.

She had thought until her head ached, but the quiet of the day and the steady presence of the tree beneath her, the bark rough but cool against her skin, were soothing in the last day's light and not until the sun was sinking behind the horizon had she finally dropped from her haven to the leafy ground below.

Shëanon had hurried to her chambers after that, keeping her gaze on the ground so as not to make eye contact with anyone. She was painfully aware that many of those at the council had not reacted positively when she had stepped forth and she did not want to have to see it again on their faces that evening, not after her father's scornful departure. It had been part of her decision to stay in the woods for many hours.

Now she spent what she knew could very well be her last night ever in her room in silence and in memory. She tried to drink in every detail of the space, remembering how her father used to tuck her in for bed, how she and Arwen used to lie side by side and talk and laugh. It would be a cruel end to her short life if she did not return. When the stars began to fade, Shëanon ended her melancholy ponderings and turned her mind instead to what was to come. The Fellowship's path would lead across the earth and into the very heart of Mordor, and she would need to be well prepared.

Rising to dress for the journey that lay before her, she tugged on sturdy leggings, her warmest undershirt, and a well-worn tunic under a thick cloak, dark brown to help her remain unseen to any enemies. She slid her feet into the soft leather boots she wore on the practice field and then lifted her hands to her hair, unruly but soft against her fingers. With a sigh, she wove it into a single braid and let it fall down her back. She grimaced as she caught sight of herself in her mirror; she looked like a boy. Biting her lip and trying to keep her mind empty, she filled a small rucksack with the supplies she saw fit to carry with her. This pack she wore across her back with her bow and quiver and around her waist she strapped her sword, a water skin, and a small dagger. Although she had never before been out on patrol herself, she knew what her brothers carried with them. She had only just buckled the belt when there was a knock at the door—Arwen, she suspected. She shifted a bit on her feet. Surely Arwen supported her decision?

"Come in," she called quietly, and the door swung slowly open. It was not Arwen, but Elladan and Elrohir, she saw with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Shëanon looked at them apprehensively; she had not seen them since the argument the day before, and for the first time in her memory, she did not know what to say to them. Their expressions were grim as they stood in the doorway, and in the dim light, they had never looked more like their father: strong and unwavering and severe; their eyes even seemed to pierce her as his did. Her mouth went dry.

"Good morning, sister," Elladan murmured as they stepped into the room. His voice held none of his usual humor. "We have come to help you pack, but it seems that you have done so already," he said as he appraised the weapons upon her back and slung at her hips.

"I have," she confirmed, looking back and forth between them. They were both staring at her as she stood in the middle of the chamber. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat.

"You have dressed well," Elrohir said at last, looking at her boots and leggings. Shëanon remembered how horribly angry he had been the previous day, yelling at her to sit down. She wondered if he was still angry now, but his face was as smooth and unforgiving as marble, cool and emotionless. She had seldom seen it thus.

Elladan stepped forward and walked around her, and she felt his hands open her rucksack and rummage through its contents. Elrohir stood still across from her, his arms folded over his chest as he watched his brother take note of her supplies. Neither spoke.

"Bring a needle and thread," Elladan said finally. "Be it for stitches in cloth or in flesh, you will surely need them before your journey's end."

"Alright," Shëanon whispered, wondering if they would leave now that they had performed their perfunctory duty, but neither moved. The silence lengthened.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked at last, looking pleadingly into Elrohir's dark face. For one embarking on a dangerous mission, her voice came out sounding terribly fragile, but she hated the thought of leaving with ill feelings between them. Elrohir's eyebrows rose.

"We are not angry with you, tithen lum," he said slowly. "We worry for you, little sister, but we do not scorn your decision to go, for if your heart feels pulled to this fate, it is not for us to stop you. I do not deny that I very much wish for you to stay here where you are safe, but I could not resent you for your desire to rid this world of darkness."

Shëanon closed her eyes. "Thank you," she breathed, a great weight falling from her shoulders at his words. When she opened her eyes again, her brother stood in front of her, and a ghost of a smile was on his face.

"You had best put our teachings to good use," he said, almost teasingly, but she sensed also that he meant his words. She smiled softly, and promised that she would.

Arwen did come then, bearing a tray laden with fresh bread and jam and some cheese, and a cup of steaming tea. Shëanon was not hungry and her stomach was in knots but she ate everything on the tray, for she did not know how long it would be until she had another good meal.

When the sky outside was growing pale, Arwen brought her hands to Shëanon's cheeks and pressed a kiss against her head.

"The Valar go with you," she breathed in Shëanon's ear as she wrapped her arms around her. "If ever there is doubt in your mind, remember that I believe in you."

Shëanon hugged Arwen tightly, unable to voice her gratitude through her constricted throat. Arwen always knew what to say to bring her peace, but she wondered if she knew just how much her words meant to her.

When she drew back, Shëanon saw with a pang in her chest that there were tears in her sister's lovely eyes.

Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir walked with her from her room. The sky was pink in the east, but the sun's first rays had not yet touched the valley. With steps that fell heavier than was usual, Shëanon made her way across the city, trying to absorb every detail of the elegant buildings and bridges of her home. She suddenly wished that she had gone once more to the library, to breathe in the familiar smell of old parchment and ink, or down to the stables to bid farewell to the horses. She balled her hands into fists.

As they turned a corner, Shëanon saw that a figure stood waiting for them. She faltered slightly in her steps, but Elladan's hand on her shoulder guided her forward before he and his brother and sister continued down to the gate, leaving Shëanon with her father.

Lord Elrond stood tall and resolute in the murky light of the young morning, and upon his face Shëanon saw sorrow and grief, for which she felt unbearably guilty.

"Adar," she greeted him nervously, feeling suddenly very small.

Elrond gazed at her intensely as a cool wind stirred the air.

"I will not say to you that I approve of your part in this," he said at last, his voice deep and grim, and Shëanon looked at the smooth stone under her feet.

"I did not expect you to," she answered dejectedly.

"I do not approve," he continued, "because a father seeks always to protect his children."

Elrond stepped forward and rested his hands on her shoulders.

"It was not for a lack of faith in you that I sought to keep you here, Shëanon. My blood may not run through your veins, but you are my child nonetheless, and you have grown to be all that I could have hoped for," he said firmly. Hot tears came to Shëanon's eyes and fell down her face.

"Look at me, hên nín," Elrond said quietly, and through her streaming eyes she looked into his face. The sincerity she saw there was almost too much, for his words spoke directly to her heart.

"You have grown up much too quickly," Elrond said sorrowfully as she wiped at her tears, "but I would not send you on this quest if I felt that you were incapable of what awaits you. You are brave and good, iell nín, and stronger than you think, and I am so very proud of you. If it is indeed my fate that you should be parted from me now, then I will send you forth with all of my love."

Shëanon cried earnestly now, and Elrond pulled her close. In the midst of all the commotion and anxiety of the past few days, his acceptance of her overwhelmed her completely and her whole body shook with her tears. He was proud of her. The notion gripped her heart tightly as he held her for what could have been the last time. She shuddered.

"The sun is rising," he murmured after a long moment, and Shëanon heard that his voice too was tight with emotion. She drew back from him and clumsily dried her tears.

"You are sure," he asked in his low, serious voice, "that you want to go? There may be no turning back."

His gaze, penetrating and troubled, seemed to reach all the way to her heart. Shëanon nodded solemnly, and her father's answering sigh was somber in her ears.

"Very well. Come now, hên nín."

Shëanon felt a terrible combination of turmoil and resignation as she walked with her father to the main gate. She was very aware of her footsteps, and of the smell of the valley, and the sound of the river.

When they finally came down to the gateway, she saw that many people were gathered already. Before she had the chance to look for faces, however, a small crowd descended upon her. She stood frozen as in the still, crisp morning, elves stepped forward to clasp her hands, to embrace her, to touch her face and kiss her brow. She had known these people for almost as long as she could remember, she realized—they had carried her when she was little, chased her through the valley, taught her to swim, to read, to fight. She regretted avoiding them all the day before, and suddenly she did not want to go at all, but she knew that she could not forsake the oath she had given.

Glorfindel came to her last, taking her face in his strong hands and bending to kiss the top of her head.

"May the Valar protect you," he said, and then Shëanon hugged her brothers and sister once more. She held them tightly, feeling the beating of theirs hearts against hers, and then when at last she knew that her goodbyes were over, she turned to those assembled behind her.

All the members of the company stood waiting in the shadows of the great pillars that marked the city's edge—all but one, Shëanon realized suddenly, for Aragorn was not yet there. She wondered at this as she stepped away from her family and approached her companions. The hobbits looked as tired as she felt, Pippin yawning in the gray light, but their faces looked calm and almost eager as they glanced around. Frodo alone wore a different expression: one of quiet resolve. Gandalf stood next to him, his eyes twinkling and kind and Shëanon went to stand close by him, more glad than she could ever express for the comfort of his presence. He placed a warm hand on her shoulder when she came to rest at his side and she smiled tremulously at him.

No one spoke as they waited for the last of the fellowship to arrive, neither the members of the company nor those waiting to see them off. The elves of Imladris stood in silent clusters behind Elrond and his children, their ethereal gazes unwavering and wise. Shëanon knew that they would watch until the ten companions had passed from the valley and out of sight, and she took comfort in that knowledge.

Just as the first rays of the morning sun broke over the mountains, Aragorn appeared at the top of the steps. He was attired once more in the worn clothes of the ranger that he was to the outside world, but to Shëanon he still looked very much like the son of kings. She peaked at Boromir as Aragorn strode slowly down the stairs, but the man's face bore no sign of ill will towards the Dúnadan. She was glad, for there was no room for discord among companions on a quest such as theirs. She was not certain what lay ahead of them, but she knew that it was ever the desire of the Enemy to turn the free peoples of Middle Earth against each other.

Shëanon looked into his eyes as Aragorn came to stand at her shoulder, seeking the reassurance of his gaze, but instead she found that his face was weary and grieved, and she wondered briefly what had happened while she had secluded herself the day before. Her father's voice interrupted her ponderings.

"The Ringbearer is setting out on the quest of Mount Doom," he announced as he stepped forth. Shëanon had the feeling that he was looking directly into the minds of each of the company as he stood looking at them all, one last time. His eyes met hers and she drank in the details of his face in a moment of desperate panic. She had not hugged him again when she had hugged Arwen and the twins, for she did not want to lose her already shaky composure before the other members of the fellowship. "On you who travel with him, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will," he said meaningfully, and then his countenance softened and in his face she saw both hope and regret. "Farewell. Hold to your purpose, and may the blessings of elves and men and all free folk go with you."

Elrond placed his hand over his heart, and behind him the other elves did the same and extended their palms to the company. Shëanon mimicked the movement, bowing her head and clenching her jaw against the onslaught of emotion that came at her. The goodbye seemed horribly permanent. Gandalf squeezed her shoulder.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer," he said firmly, and Frodo turned and slowly strode through the gate behind her. As the rest of the fellowship fell into step behind him, Shëanon cast one more glance over her shoulder. She had not anticipated how hard it would be to finally walk away from her home and family. Her eyes roved quickly over the many familiar faces before landing on her father's. She regretted very much then that she had not hugged him again when she'd had the chance. Something flickered in his eyes.

"Go," he said, his brow furrowed but his voice firm, and with that Shëanon turned her back on him and followed the others over the threshold of the city, over the bridge, and along the ledged path that lead from the valley.

Her legs felt like lead as she followed Aragorn over the earthy pass, the sound of the Bruinen rushing in her ears. Only when she reached the very top of the valley did she look back; her breath caught in her chest as she beheld Rivendell, the falls of the river golden and luminous in the sunrise and the city's buildings fair and familiar and magnificent, looking as if they were a part of the valley itself, rising out of the rock since the very beginning of time. Shëanon could just see the tiny forms that were the elves watching them go. She closed her eyes, took one last, deep breath, and left Imladris behind her.

The company walked for many hours. The land was hilly and scattered with trees and bushes and the imposing outline of the Misty Mountains loomed ahead of them. They would not go over them, Shëanon knew, but around them. Gandalf had told them as they set out that they were to go to Mordor by the Gap of Rohan, and those had been the last words spoken for some time; the company walked in silence as the sun climbed into the sky. Aragorn had hung back as she taken her last long look at the valley, and then with a hand at her back he had ushered her in front of him. He seemed as lost in thought as Shëanon was.

She frowned. Arwen had seemed upset when they had departed—even more upset than one who was saying goodbye to a lover. Her gaze had been fixed on the ground as the company had embarked, and her manner was uncharacteristically nervous. Could she and Aragorn have quarreled? Shëanon hoped they had not parted on bad terms, as she had almost parted with her father and brothers. In the darkening times, it seemed almost foolish. Sighing, she listened for a while to the sound of Aragorn's footfalls behind her.

The fellowship had fallen into a single file line. Gandalf had taken the lead, the head of the company. Behind him walked Legolas, and then Gimli the Dwarf, and then the four hobbits and Bill the pony. Boromir walked directly in front of her, and when Shëanon was not looking at the land around her, she took to looking at the shield he carried on his back. It was round and heavy-looking, and around the middle it was engraved with seven stars (for Gondor, she assumed) and two great wings. She traced the elegant markings with her eyes as her mind wandered.

'What have I gotten myself into?' she wondered apprehensively. Out of the safety of the valley, the world seemed very big.

After a time, Shëanon heard voices ahead of her, for the hobbits seemed to have decided that they were awake enough to converse. For a moment she listened to their words, but her stomach dropped when she realized that they were talking about Rivendell. She blocked them out and focused again on her surroundings, unwilling to become homesick so soon. The trees around them seemed narrower and more spindly than the ones in the valley, and their bark looked rougher. The ground beneath her boots was riddled with rabbit holes and many rocks, but the grass was thick upon it, though it had turned yellow with the season. On they walked.

Not until well after noontime did the company stop to rest. The hobbits had been speaking hopefully of food a few hours before, and finally the others agreed that they too could do with some lunch. At the top of one of the rolling hills, they all set down their packs. It was a good spot that Gandalf had picked; there were a few trees nearby, but they had a mostly clear view of the surrounding land. The hilly terrain seemed to stretch endlessly to the north, south, and west, and if Shëanon had not known that Imladris lay eight hours behind them, she would never have guessed that the beautiful valley existed at the end of the great expanse of sloping earth. Although she knew that not all the world could be the same bumpy landscape, she found it hard to imagine anything else. Indeed it was hard not to picture more hills on the other side of the mountains.

As Sam began unloading supplies from the bags atop Bill, Boromir began snatching up dried sticks and twigs from the feet of the trees. Aragorn plopped down in the shade and pulled out his pipe, and Gandalf seemed keen on doing the same. Unsure of what else to do, Shëanon knelt in the grass to help Boromir start the fire.

"Do not trouble yourself, little maiden," Boromir said before she had taken even one stick from the ground. She looked up in surprise. "I will start the fire."

Shëanon blinked.

"I don't mind helping," she said honestly. Boromir smiled at her, his arms full of fallen branches.

"We have walked for several hours now. You are surely tired," he said kindly.

"Not so tired that I cannot gather twigs," she protested calmly. She was not tired at all; half a day of walking was not enough to make her weary, although her mind was strained from passing two sleepless, emotional nights in a row. She did not want to contradict him, however, and neither did she wish to be snide, so she held her tongue.

Boromir's smile widened. "I have enough wood already," he grinned. "I beseech you, Daughter of Elrond, rest a while and I will get you flame."

Shëanon stared at him, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "Alright," she muttered reluctantly. "Thank you."

She sat back on her heels, sipping water from the flask at her waist, as she watched Boromir pull out a flint. The hobbits were impatiently arranging sausages and bacon on frying pans, she saw, and when the small fire was finally started they all dropped to their knees around it to cook.

"Careful, Merry, you're burning those!"

"I am not! Some people might want them crispy!"

"Sit down, Mister Frodo! I'll cook yours for you!"

Shëanon smiled and Gandalf chuckled from where he sat perched upon a boulder. She scooted closer to him, happy to see that his eyes were twinkling and mischievous. The air quickly filled with the smell of sizzling bacon and burning wood, cheerful little puffs of smoke dancing away on the soft wind, and Shëanon momentarily forgot that they were on a perilous quest.

They walked again until past dusk, and the hobbits told them stories as they went, of the adventures of other "great" hobbits and the deeds that they did. Shëanon had a feeling that the stories were embellished—a suspicion that was confirmed when it became clear that Merry and Pippin were exaggerating for the sole purpose of outdoing each other with the grandness of their tale—but it was nonetheless pleasant to listen to their happy voices as they trudged over the boulders and hills. It was, all in all, a good day, and even Aragorn seemed to be in better spirits as the group set down their belongings at the edge of a small wood when it had grown too dark to continue. They would rest there until daybreak and then they would walk again.

The company settled down in a circle, their faces illuminated only by the light of the crescent moon.

"Won't we light another fire, Gandalf?" Pippin asked as he pulled out some bread.

"No, we will not," the wizard replied, and the hobbits all looked crestfallen. "Although we are still close to Rivendell, it would be unwise to light a fire in the night and alert others to our whereabouts. We do not know what spies of the enemy might be looking for us."

Shëanon was not surprised, but winter was coming upon them and the nights would be long and cold without the heat of a fire. The bread that Pippin had taken out was being passed around, and Shëanon handed it wordlessly to Aragorn when Boromir offered it to her, wanting nothing but a steaming cup of herbal tea that she would not get for a long while.

"That's one day out of forty," Sam said as he popped a piece of bacon in his mouth; everyone was munching on leftover sausages, but Shëanon had not the stomach.

"Yes," Gandalf nodded. He still wore his pointed hat, even in the darkening night. "And then our road turns east, to Mordor."

Mordor. The word sent a chill down Shëanon's back, but as of yet, Gandalf did not seem terribly worried. They still had secrecy on their side, at least, and if the weather held they would make good time along the mountains.

The company sat chewing and murmuring to one another for a while longer, but the darkness seemed to dissuade them from more animated conversation and soon the dark silhouettes of her companions rose and started to rummage about, getting ready to settle in for the night and sleep. The hobbits took blankets from the baggage borne by Bill the pony and they were handed out, and as she took the one that Aragorn held out to her Shëanon realized that they were of elven make, thick and soft and warm. She held the blanket close against her, knowing that her father must have provided them.

Aragorn was pulling off his pack and setting it upon the ground, and so Shëanon unbuckled the straps of her rucksack and quiver and laid them upon the grass. She unstrapped the leather belt about her hips and carefully set her sword down with the rest of her things; despite the peace of their first day, she felt rather wary of disarming herself.

"I will take the first watch," Gandalf announced as the jovial sound of the hobbits' chattering died down. He set himself down on the stump of a tree felled long ago.

"I will take the second," Aragorn said firmly as he spread his cloak upon the ground. Around her, her companions were stretching out under the night sky. Shëanon glanced over at the four little shapes that were the hobbits, lying all in a row right beside where Gandalf sat. Boromir had set his great shield leaning against one of the trees and was pulling one of the blankets about him where he lay beside it.

Shëanon looked dubiously at the ground. She had never slept out of doors and although the trees stood a vigil behind her, she felt very much out in the open and she didn't like it at all. She peaked back at Gandalf; the wizard sat still and calm as he watched the land around them. Slowly she knelt and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, watching Aragorn grab his pack and use it as a pillow. He looked up at her bemusedly.

"Lie down, Shea," he said quietly. Already Gimli was snoring a few feet away.

Reluctantly she did as he said, clutching her blanket as she lay flat on her back. Stars had come out, she saw. They sparkled high above her and she stared at them, listening to the breaths of her companions become deep and slow as they fell asleep one by one. Shëanon felt that she could hear the rustle of each individual leaf, the sway of every blade of grass as a cold wind swept down over them. The sky above her seemed fathomless, unending—beautiful and yet somber, almost daunting, and for the first time Shëanon found no peace gazing at the night sky. She thought of Elbereth embellishing the dark of the night with shining balls of light, and wondered what the Valar thought of Middle Earth's plight.

"Shea," Aragorn whispered suddenly from beside her, interrupting her musings. She turned to look at him. His eyes were closed.

"Go to sleep," he breathed.

"I'm not tired," Shëanon answered softly.

"I don't care. Sleep anyways."

If Aragorn's eyes had been open, he would have seen the dirty look she cast at his peaceful face. She looked back at the sky.

She had lied, of course; Shëanon was very tired. She had not slept since the night before the council, but out in the vast world, away from her home and in the dark of the night, she felt too vulnerable and uneasy to sleep. Even though she knew that Gandalf was on watch, she did not like the idea of lowering her guard and putting herself at the mercy of the darkness. Anything could be out there, even Gandalf had said so. Spies of the enemy, he had said, and Shëanon almost felt their eyes upon her. To her left stretched the endless hills, shadowy and dark and marked by black shapes of trees. She didn't know what would be worse, to turn her back on the terrain or to lie and face it, and so she remained on her back, uncomfortable and fidgety though she was.

'That is why I cannot sleep,' Shëanon thought, but a whisper sounded at the very back of her mind. _Who are you? Who are you?_ She shuddered. The voice and the fire had been haunting her the past two days, a constant shadow over her heart, and although she was ashamed of her own weakness, she knew that she was afraid that if she slept, she would have nightmares or worse. The One Ring was less than ten feet away from her; what if her mind found it again? Shëanon bit her lip and pulled her blanket closer to her face. It smelled like Imladris, like warmth and safety, and she nuzzled her cheek against it.

There was movement beside her, and Shëanon jerked awake. Had she dozed off? She must have. A dark shape had appeared to her right and woken her.

"Mithrandir has finished his watch. I said I would wake you."

"Hannon le."

Shëanon sat up and rubbed her eyes, which were burning and foggy from sleep and did not want to stay open. Finally, she was able to focus her vision.

A cloud had blown over the moon, but still Shëanon was able to see Aragorn next to her. He was sitting up and fastening his cloak around his neck, and Legolas was kneeling at his side. Both looked at her.

"Forgive me, my lady," Legolas said quietly, his hair silver and his eyes dark in the night. "I did not mean to wake you."

Shëanon felt her face get hot.

"That's alright," she stammered, her voice hoarse and groggy. How long had she slept?

"I am sure Shea is grateful," Aragorn muttered as he rolled his blanket into a ball. "She has made it her own personal quest not to sleep until we reach the Black Gate."

"Just to spite me, I'm sure," he grumbled under his breath, and Shëanon glared at him. Legolas, however, only smiled.

"The night has been quiet," he said, glancing past Shëanon and out at the hills before looking back at Aragorn. "Gandalf saw nothing amiss."

Aragorn nodded and pulled himself to his feet. "That is well," he said as he strode off.

Shëanon watched him walk away with Legolas, and then looked down at where he had lain before. She hesitated only for a moment before she too rose slowly and stepped carefully over to where Gandalf had been keeping watch. Aragorn was leaning against the weathered old stump, rather than sitting on it as Gandalf had, and Legolas was sitting next to him, his elbows resting on his knees.

Aragorn glanced up at her as she approached, and even without the light of the moon she could see the exasperation on his face, though he hefted an arm around her shoulders as she plopped down at his other side.

"When morning comes, you will wish you had slept," he murmured, but his gaze was now fixed on the dark landscape.

"I would not have slept anyways," she shrugged.

Aragorn sighed. "It is a waste for three to do what could be managed by one," he said dubiously.

"And yet you have not ordered the prince of Mirkwood off to bed," Shëanon pointed out, and then froze, wishing she hadn't spoken.

Legolas laughed quietly; it was a bright, clear sound and to her consternation Shëanon found that it raised goosebumps along her arms and down her back.

"Indeed, Aragorn," he said good-naturedly, "send me off to sleep."

Aragorn shook his head and said nothing, and Shëanon was glad. She pulled her blanket closer to her—it was still wrapped around her shoulders, for the night was cold and she was unwilling to so quickly forsake the comfort that the soft cloth brought her.

For four hours the three sat in the grass, keeping watch for the rest of the company. They spoke little, and that suited Shëanon just fine. In fact, she found that she felt nervous and self-conscious when she spoke. She doubted everything that she said, for she felt completely robbed of her wits. In truth, she had avoided Legolas in Rivendell, and his going with the Fellowship had almost kept her from joining. She knew it was a foolish thing, but she had not forgotten her embarrassment at the gates of the city when she had stared dumbstruck and stupidly at him, nor the intense feeling that had struck her then, and she was not eager to experience that feeling again. Indeed, every time she had seen him since, she felt her face burn and she became inexplicably uneasy and uncertain. He and his companions had sat and dined at her father's table for the few days between his arrival and the council, and on those occasions Shëanon had only been able to pick at the food on her plate. He had shown up on the practice fields once, late in the morning when the sun was well risen, and she had carefully slipped away.

She sat bleary-eyed and cold, curled in a little ball beside Aragorn as the sky gradually grew lighter. If she and Legolas were to be companions, she could not avoid him any longer. She would just have to try to behave like a normal person.

"The dawn draws near," Legolas said after a very long time of silence during which Shëanon had listened to the songs of waking birds in the trees behind them.

Aragorn nodded and rose. "I will go and wake the others," he said. He looked down at Shëanon before he turned. "When we stop tonight, you will sleep whether you want to or not," he said wearily. "Your father would have my head if he knew I allowed you to traipse across the countryside for days without rest," he said seriously, although his eyes were light. She almost smiled.

Legolas stood also, and Shëanon was hurrying to disentangle her limbs from her blanket cocoon when he came before her and held out his hand. She looked at it for a moment, surprised. With more trepidation than she let show, she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

"Hannon le," she said with a blush, waiting for him to release her. With a flash of heat through her body, she remembered how he had kissed her hand only a few days earlier. She looked into his face—easier to see now that the night was ending—and saw that he was looking at her intently. She almost pulled away, but she was caught once more in his direct, penetrating gaze. She felt suddenly very silly, wrapped in the blanket, and resisted the urge to smooth her hair.

"It is well that you are here, Shëanon," he said lowly, pensively, after a moment, and Shëanon's eyes widened in surprise. Did he know that she had felt unsure in her decision? "Your presence is good for Aragorn," he murmured, glancing briefly at where Aragorn crouched, rousing the hobbits before looking back at her. "And I am glad to have another of my kin in this company," he said with a gentle, genuine smile. He let go of her hand and with an incline of his head, he turned and strode away.

Shëanon stood still for a moment, stunned. She looked down at her feet, knowing that her whole face was surely scarlet, and then, with an odd little flutter in her chest, she went to prepare for the long day of walking that lay ahead of her.

_Translations:_

_Tithen lum- little shadow_

_Iell nín- my daughter_

_Hên nín- my child_

_Hannon le- thank you_

A/N: I am so so so sorry that it took so long for me to update! I was on vacation in Florida and I didn't have any of the free time that I thought I would. I just got back a few days ago and I wrote this as fast as I could. I don't plan to take so long again! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, you guys are awesome and I hope you're enjoying the story so far! It's still kind of winding up, and hopefully the next chapter or so will be more eventful. Let me know what you think. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Aiër- Chapter Five

The midmorning was overcast and cool, and though the earth had grown rockier and the hills slightly larger, the wind was not terribly cold and the clouds did not seem to threaten rain. As they trekked up another steep incline, the air was sharp and invigorating on the faces of the company and Shëanon was glad, for with every step that she took she felt more and more that Aragorn had been right; she was exhausted and she wished she had slept. Her weary mind wandered and her eyes burned, and now the dry, dying grass beneath her feet seemed as inviting and comfortable as her lovely bed back in Rivendell. Unlike on the previous day, Aragorn was walking in front of her, and he kept glancing over his shoulder at her, an infuriating, knowing smirk on his face. Shëanon ignored him each time, deliberately keeping her steps light and her expression clear, but she was relieved when Gandalf came to a stop and announced that they were stopping to rest.

"I think," he called as he surveyed the surrounding land and the fellowship halted behind him, "that everyone could do with some lunch, and this seems as good a place as any. We will light a fire—a small one—with the cover of the trees."

Merry released a hoot of approval, and Shëanon grinned at him, sharing in his enthusiasm.

The fire was quickly seen to, the members of the company gratefully sinking onto boulders and rocks around the flame. Although she did not eat the sausages that the others skewered and roasted over the flames, Shëanon was glad for the warmth on her tired body. She sat cross-legged on the ground, eating pieces of bread and handfuls of _imradaes_, elven meal consisting of oats, nuts, and dried berries, out of a small pouch from her pack. Earlier in the day, the group had encountered a small stream winding through the hills, and so her water skin was full of clear, cold water.

"This isn't so bad so far," Pippin said cheerfully, and Shëanon glanced up. He and the other hobbits sat side by side on an old log, sticks bearing roasting food held out over the fire. As they chattered, she took in their appearances. They all looked out of place to her in their little overalls and waistcoats, and their faces were all too innocent. Pippin had been especially eager to set out that morning, Shëanon had noted, seeming much less reluctant than the other hobbits to forsake the warm elvish blankets and begin to walk again. "I hope the journey stays like this the whole way to Mordor."

"That wouldn't make for a very good story," Sam said thoughtfully from beside him, across the fire from where Shëanon rested.

"A good story!" Frodo exclaimed. "Do you want something dangerous to happen?"

"No, of course not," Sam said, shaking his blonde head in defense. Shëanon smiled softly as she looked in on their conversation. "I was only saying, is all."

"Well, good story or not, at least the weather's been fair enough and it hasn't rained." Pippin said sagely, and stole a sausage from Sam's skewer.

"Or snowed," Merry agreed.

"Well, now you've done it!" Gimli huffed, with a disparaging look at Merry and Pippin. "You've jinxed it! If it rains now, ladies, it'll be on your wee hobbit heads!" He cast a wary glance up at the cloudy sky and pursed his lips under his russet beard. "Not that I mind the rain," he added as an afterthought, with a meaningful glance at the others. "Or the snow. In fact, I once walked forty miles in a blizzard. Didn't trouble me at all."

Shëanon smirked and bit her lip, but suddenly a thought struck her and she looked over at the hobbits' bare, hairy feet, stuck out toward the warmth of the crackling fire.

"Does it snow in the Shire?" she asked them abruptly from where she sat in the dirt. Everyone looked over at her in surprise.

"Of course it does," Merry informed her, an almost proud note in his voice.

"The shire's a fair place even in the winter, milady," Sam said wistfully, and the others hurried to agree, but Shëanon was still dubious.

"And what do you do when it snows?" she asked seriously. The faces of the hobbits brightened further, clearly pleased that she was so interested in the Shire.

"Oh, loads of things," Merry said happily, leaning back to rest his elbow on a boulder behind them. "Drink hot chocolate—"

"Roast chestnuts," Pippin cut in.

"Good time of year to roast potatoes," Merry continued.

"That it is," Pippin agreed, "and for baking cookies, too! And cake! And—"

"But do you go outside?" she asked curiously.

The hobbits stared at her.

"Of course we go outside," Frodo said, looking at her strangely.

"Did you think they hibernate?" Boromir laughed from next to Gimli, his shoulders shaking under his leather tunic. "They are hobbits, not hedgehogs!" Shëanon ignored him.

"Do you wear shoes in the snow?" she pressed, her eyes appraising each of the halflings in turn. They all look as confused as she felt, glancing at each other and then back at her, and she became aware that Gandalf and Aragorn had started chuckling.

"No," Pippin said blankly. "Hobbits don't wear shoes."

Shëanon felt blood rushing to her face and she squirmed as the laughter around the circle continued at her expense.

"But… But don't your feet get cold?" she asked desperately, now wishing she had not brought up the subject. "Or frostbitten?"

All the hobbits laughed at that, and Shëanon looked down at her lap, exasperated. How was she to have known that hobbit feet fare well in the snow?

"Come now, do not laugh at the lady," Boromir said, but he was laughing himself. "It was a fair question."

"Indeed it was," Gandalf chuckled and then turned to address Shëanon. "It does not get so very cold in the Shire, Shëanon, nor does it snow very much or very often," he said kindly, though she could see that his eyes were alight with mirth, "And a hobbit's feet can withstand many kinds of weather."

"I was only wondering," she said ruefully, to more laughter.

"Does it snow in Rivendell, milady?" Sam asked, with genuine interest, and Shëanon looked at him gratefully.

"It does," she said, now twirling the end of her braid around her fingers.

"And do you wear shoes in the snow?" Merry asked, and he and Pippin had another small fit of laughter.

"Yes," she said sheepishly, although she could not deny that the sight of the hobbits laughing was a welcome one after several hours of monotonous walking.

Boromir suddenly leaned forward and regarded Shëanon with a thoughtful expression, one elbow resting on his knee.

"I have heard tell," he said slowly, "that elves walk not through snow, but upon it and leave no tracks. Is it true?" His eyes were intent upon her face, and she saw the hobbits also looked very interested. They had stopped laughing and intently awaited her answer.

"It is," she admitted, although she felt somehow hesitant and awkward, a poor representative of the Eldar to boast of her own grace.

"Can you?" Pippin asked eagerly. Over the fire, his sausage was charred, forgotten. "Can you walk on snow?"

Shëanon nodded, feeling weary again, and Boromir and the hobbits looked impressed.

"And you, Legolas? You can walk on snow, too?"

Shëanon followed Pippin's gaze and looked over her shoulder, startled to find that Legolas stood very close behind her. In her exhaustion, she had not noticed that he did not sit around the fire with the others, and he had not spoken since they had stopped to eat.

Legolas turned, having been looking out over the hills, and grinned at the hobbits. His hair, Shëanon noted, looked silver in the grey, misty light, and he seemed even taller and broader than usual from her vantage point on the ground. She averted her gaze.

"I can," he assured them. "And it is well, for in the winter it snows much where I am from."

Gimli snorted. "It snows also at Erebor, and we dwarves manage just fine without cheating nature and walking on it like fairies."

Shëanon raised her eyebrows. She thought herself nothing like a fairy.

"Cheating nature?" Legolas asked from behind her, and she glanced back at him as he spoke. His tone was mild, but there was something haughty and challenging in his eyes, now the color of ice. "Eru Ilúvatar created nature and thus the snow, and in turn he created the Eldar and made them light of foot. Of all the peoples of this earth, it is not the race of the Eldar that is a cheat of His creation," he said, and his voice had grown grave.

Gimli growled and clenched his fists, and Shëanon looked uneasily at Aragorn. He exchanged a significant glance with her, but rather than unease, she saw annoyance in his eyes. She remembered the words the dwarf had shouted at the council, "_No one trust an Elf!_" and she frowned. There was an awkward silence, and then Boromir cleared his throat.

"It does not snow often or a lot in Gondor," he said bravely, his eyes darting from Gimli to Legolas and back, "For we are too far south. But when snow does seldom fall, you could not find a fairer sight in all of Middle Earth than that of Minas Tirith. With snowflakes drifting like gifts of crystal from the clouds, dazzling, cold white against the white of the White City, and frost glittering on the ground, it is truly a place of dreams," he murmured, his eyes shining and his tone both reverent and wistful, and everyone gaped at him, taken aback.

"That sounds beautiful," Shëanon said after a moment, picturing the scene he had described. She had never thought much about journeying to Minas Tirith, but she decided that for all the awe in Boromir's voice as he spoke of it, it might be worth a visit.

Then Gandalf slowly rose to his feet, leaning heavily upon his staff as he did so. "I think we have rested for as long as time could afford us," he said. "We should journey on."

With that, everyone stood up and packed away the remainders of their lunch, and although Shëanon's eyes were still burning and tired, she had plenty to think about as the Fellowship began once again to walk.

"We stop here for the night," Gandalf called when the sun was long gone beneath the grey line of the horizon, and the night was dark and starless. Shëanon could not ever recall such weariness, though she had grit her teeth all day and journeyed on, over the patches of lingering grass and gravelly, rocky slopes of the hills. After lunch, she had realized after nearly an hour of walking that Legolas was walking behind her, and so in addition to her exhaustion she had also felt foolishly jittery and nervous, and once she had even tripped over her own feet and staggered, staring down at her booted toes in utter astonishment of her own clumsiness, her whole face burning; she had not lost her footing like that in years.

The place that Gandalf had chosen to take rest that night was a small knoll alongside the smooth face of a small cliff, a large hill that seemed to have been long ago cloven in two. Shëanon did not wait to see where Aragorn would go; as soon as Gandalf halted and announced the end of their second day, she sank immediately to her knees. She must have made more noise than she had thought, for the ranger turned to look at her as the others set to making a temporary, makeshift camp. She could see that his brows had risen on his forehead, but he mercifully refrained from chastising her and with a smirk that was at odds with the concern in his eyes, he turned to unburden the pony.

Shëanon sat numbly while the others milled about, eating another cold supper and lying out blankets and bedrolls for sleeping. There seemed to be less ceremony tonight; everyone was clearly intent on swallowing food down as quickly as possible so that they might sleep all the sooner.

"I will take the first watch," Boromir declared, and Shëanon watched dully as the man hefted his shield from his back and chose a spot to watch from. Distantly, she was aware of Aragorn handing her her blanket, which she held in her hands for a moment without moving. He was laying out his own blanket now on the hard ground beside where she knelt.

Gimli volunteered for the second watch as Shëanon finally brought her fingers to the buckle of her pack, removing it and her weapons and laying them on the grass close by. Her limbs were heavy and her mind was as cloudy as the sky above, and she longed for the relief that sleep would bring, but…

She lay down, the pebbly earth under her back feeling as blissful as the most luxurious mattress in Imladris in her worn out state. She looked up again, hearing as if from a great distance the sounds of the others still fumbling about, the hobbits still eating and speaking quietly to each other, Bill whinnying softly.

She brought her eyes to Aragorn, sitting on his blanket to her left. She was waiting for him to lie down, but he had pulled out his pipe and was reclining against a rock, his eyes far away. With one hand he held the pipe against his lips, but it was not yet lit, and with the other he was rummaging absently through his rucksack, presumably searching for pipe weed with his fingers. Anxiously, Shëanon turned away from him and looked up at the heavens as she had the night before.

The sky had only grown darker as the day had progressed, the cover of cloud becoming ever thicker and more foreboding, and as the sun had set a mist had risen between the hills. No light, neither from stars nor the thin sickle that was the diminishing moon, breeched the thick blanket overhead and even in her terrible exhaustion, even with sleep within her grasp, Shëanon forced her eyes to stay open. Into her mind, unbidden and unwanted, the voice came and echoed. _You are afraid_.

Shëanon swallowed thickly. She would hear it again, she knew. If she closed her eyes and let herself sleep, her mind relax and wander, she would relive the horror of Sauron's presence again, be it through a nightmare or the ring itself. She wanted to cry aloud, for there in the hazy dark of the overcast night, the feel of the flames licking at her skin was all too near in her memory and, somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, another pain, more fire, searing skin as she screamed and fought. Her throat closed against her revulsion and she sat up, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head upon them. How could she sleep, knowing what she might see—what she might relive?

"Shëanon."

She looked over at Aragorn in complete misery. He had lit his pipe at last, the scarlet embers the one spark of light in the gloom. The tendrils of smoke that rose into the air were only barely visible, discernible only where they momentarily danced as a veil before his sparkling eyes. His gaze was no longer distant, but fixed on her sternly.

"We had an agreement," he said quietly but firmly.

"I cannot sleep," she whispered, rubbing at her burning eyes.

"You are exhausted, Shea," Aragorn hissed, and Shëanon winced to hear his admonishing tone. "Not even elves can go without sleep forever."

Shëanon blinked, and it took her longer than it should have to open her eyes. She could tell that Aragorn had reached the end of his tolerance, thinking her stubborn, and she blinked back tears of shame.

"I cannot sleep," she admitted, lowering her voice to the softest of whispers, "because I am afraid."

Aragorn's brow furrowed and he lowered his pipe, looking at her in surprise.

"We are not yet far from Rivendell," he whispered after a moment. "And Boromir is on watch."

Shëanon shook her head, in frustration and in desperation, and ran her hands through her hair. It was not fell creatures of the night that she feared, and so his reassurance did not soothe her troubled mind. She let out a low, shaky breath, feeling suddenly the stillness of the air; it increased her unease and she longed for a breeze, cold though it would be. Finally, and with difficulty, she met Aragorn's eyes again.

"I am afraid that if I sleep, I will… see again what I saw the other night," she breathed, and she could not tell if she felt better or more wretched for having confessed her fear to him. His expression had changed; she could see it even in the dark.

Aragorn leaned toward her then, and Shëanon watched dolefully as he brought one of his large hands to her shoulder. It was warm even through the thick layers of her clothes.

"I will wake you at once if you have any nightmares," he whispered, his voice pointed and solemn. Shëanon felt her chin tremble

"You have to sleep, too," she protested, her heart in her throat. She shivered, not from coldness but from a combination of extreme weariness and the tenderness in Aragorn's eyes. His grip tightened on her shoulder.

"I will hear you if you stir," he whispered. "I will wake you. I promise."

She looked at him for a moment, hesitating and reluctant, but finally the surety of his promise and her own exhaustion won out, and she nodded tiredly.

She lay back down, on her side now, facing him, and curled into a ball with her blanket wrapped tightly around her. 'He will wake me,' she thought fervently. She had one more look at his face, and then finally her eyes closed and she succumbed to her exhaustion. Her sleep that night was dreamless and deep.

Her relief the next day, however, was short lived, for Gimli's words had proven true: it was raining. Not ten minutes after the company had woken, they felt drizzle on their faces. By noon, the light misting had become large, fat raindrops and soon after, the sky opened up and they found themselves in a torrential downpour the likes of which Shëanon had experienced only once or twice before. It rained for days on end and the fellowship was soaked to the bone; Shëanon's hair was plastered to her face as she walked, her clothes waterlogged and heavy and clinging to her damp skin. The ground became muddy and slippery, and everyone save for Shëanon and Legolas slipped and fell at least once as the company trudged up the sludgy sides of the hills. Their boots were caked with mud, and despite what Gandalf had said about hobbit feet, Shëanon still suspected that the soggy, mucky earth was not pleasant for them to tread. Indeed, their feet were filthy.

As the days went by, the trees became fewer and far between, and giant boulders began to appear, until the hills were more rock than grass and the landscape became less sloping and more jagged. As a result, the fellowship was hard-pressed to find suitable shelter from the weather during the night, and more often than not they awaited the dawn out in the open, under the merciless sky, cold and wet and miserable.

On the seventh night of their journey, after another long day of ceaseless walking with water splashing as if from great buckets over their heads, they came upon a face of rock rising sharply to a ledge above that, Shëanon suspected, rolled down the other side in a steep, muddy mound as was the manner of the other broken hills about them. The wall of smooth rock jutted out over the earth very slightly, offering the slightest bit of protection from the relentless fall of water. Without waiting for Gandalf's word, the group made for it immediately.

The sun had just set, though through the dense clouds Shëanon had not seen it, and from the bottom of her heart she raised a prayer to the Valar, for now they could stop and take this small shelter for the night; how mournful, how bitter she would have surely been to have come to this spot during the height of the day, and to the brief reprieve that it offered, only to have to pass it up and endure the rain again until the coming of the night when they may have found no other cover waiting for them.

Everyone let their packs fall from their backs and to the sodden ground as they huddled under the small overhang. Even Bill seemed to be pressing as close as possible to the rock, though he could not completely bring his body out of the rain, and Shëanon felt a pang of pity as she regarded the miserable, soaked creature. She saw Aragorn slowly slide to the ground, leaning against the rough stone, dripping clumps of his hair falling in his face as he did. She followed his lead, sinking down next to him; she found that if she pressed as far back into the rock as she could and pulled her knees to her chest, only the very tips of her boots would be rained on.

One by one, the members of the company sat, each keeping as close to the rock as possible. No one spoke, and the sound of the water hammering into the earth was loud and severe in Shëanon's ears. She could not see far into the distance, for the sheets of rain acted as a curtain before her, obscuring much of the landscape and blurring the rest. Rivulets of water ran down her face, into her eyes and mouth, dripping from her soaked, cold hair. She pulled her cloak more tightly about herself, her whole body chill as a result of her wet, clinging clothes. The thick Rivendell blankets were as water logged as her drenched clothes, and none of the fellowshipped bothered to use one. As the night grew steadily colder, however, everyone inched slowly together, into a tighter line. Shëanon pressed her body shamelessly against Aragorn's, her right arm and leg flush against his left. She suspected that she was not as cold as the others—she could hear the hobbits shivering from where she sat—but still the piercing air cut through her sopping clothes and assaulted her clammy skin.

Eventually Aragorn brought his arm around her shoulders and she huddled against his side as he tugged his cloak around her, enveloping them both. His attire was as wet as hers, but the fabric of his tunic was warm against his body and she curled into the heat that he gave off. The darkness became more absolute around them, and there was a collective shudder as a cold wind began to blow. Even Shëanon could not suppress a shiver, for even with Aragorn's arm around her, most of her body was still exposed to the biting chill. At that moment, she sensed movement to her left, and then solid heat. Surprised, she turned.

She was startled to find that Legolas was sitting beside her, not only because he had been the only member of the fellowship not to sit on the dank, wet ground, standing instead tall and still and peering out at the hills through the veil of silver rain, but also because she was surprised that he sat so close to her as to touch her. Legolas had no human blood in his veins and he was hundreds of years older than she—certainly he did not feel the cold?

"Aragorn, i hên gîr na helch," he murmured, looking over her head at Aragorn, and Shëanon tensed. _The child shivers with cold_, he had said. She blushed. For the first time since it had started raining, since he had helped her to her feet days before and told her that it was well that she had come, she looked directly into his face. His hair was as wet as everyone else's, but it was not disheveled and stringy like Aragorn's had become in the rain, although even in the dark she could see that the water had made it the color of wheat. She knew his eyes to be cerulean blue, but in the deep of the night and the gloom of the rain, they flashed like silver. His otherwise smooth face was creased at his brow, concern in his expression and voice—concern for her, she realized.

"I'm alright," she cut in as Aragorn opened his mouth to reply. "I am not as cold as the others," she said softly but earnestly, and admittedly, a bit defensively.

The corners of Legolas's mouth turned up and his eyebrows rose, and Shëanon flushed; she could see that he did not believe her.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said apologetically, and she knew that none but she and Aragorn could hear him over the pounding rain, "but the others are not so small or… slight as you, and their lips are not blue, either."

She stared at him, searching his eyes for one startled moment to see if he might be joking, but although she did see slight amusement, she saw worry and regret also and she knew that he spoke truthfully. She hastily bowed her head. She bit her lip, and to her dismay, she found that it was indeed numb from the cold.

A lock of hair, come loose from her braid, fell against her face, cold and wet and harsh against her skin. With her eyes still fixed on her knees, she brought her hand out from under her cloak to push it aside, tucking it behind her burning ear. As her hand came away from her face, however, Legolas caught it and gently tugged it closer to him. He gripped her fingers for a moment and Shëanon watched, frozen, as he shot a significant look at Aragorn and leaned across her to take her other hand as well.

"In caim lîn nar sui heleg," he frowned, cradling her hands between both of his. He began rubbing feeling back into her numb fingers, and she shivered again to feel his skin against hers. Legolas, however, seemed to interpret her renewed shaking as another reaction to the chill, damp air, and he moved closer to her still. "Do not worry. It will not rain for much longer."

"I would rather keep the rain, if it remained the worst of our troubles," Aragorn said lowly beside her, squeezing her shoulder as he spoke. Though she kept her eyes trained on her hands, on those of Legolas holding them, she heard something in his voice that reminded her that this was not by far the first night Aragorn had spent shivering and soaking wet in the wilderness, and she frowned. She almost looked up at him, but something would not let her meet his eyes.

"Even so," Legolas conceded, "if we have the opportunity to have neither rain nor any other trouble, I will gladly take it."

Suddenly he bowed his head and lifted her hands close to his mouth, breathing warm air over her knuckles. If she had not been so taken aback, Shëanon might have pulled her hands away, but surprise and—something else would not allow her arms to move. She blushed furiously, knowing that even in the dark Legolas would be able to see that her face was bright red. He did not release her hands after that, keeping them clasped between his.

Shëanon found that she was trembling, though it was no longer from the cold. She was terribly aware of everywhere that her body touched Legolas's, all the way down her left side. His hands were much larger than her own, and though they were not as rough as Aragorn's, she knew that he used his bow and knives often; there was strength in his hands—indeed in his whole body—that both frightened and exhilarated her. Unable to further endure the sight of her hands cradled in his, she looked instead at where the rain pelted the earth at her feet, splashing and rippling in the puddles all about them.

Shëanon had no idea what was wrong with her; she only knew that she wanted to sink into the rock behind her and disappear entirely, mortified by the physical contact between the Elvenprince and herself and yet unwilling, unable to break it. And why? Legolas was only being chivalrous and kind, trying to warm her numb fingers and shield her from the biting wind, and the intensity of her reaction was both disproportionate and foolish. Surely she would not have felt so suddenly wretched if anyone else had done the same, if Gandalf had sat closer or if Boromir had taken her hands. She remembered then how she had behaved when she and Legolas had first met, how she had felt so blindsided and nervous and awkward, knowing that her embarrassment and unease were unreasonable and silly and yet unable to tamp down the feelings. The depth and suddenness of the emotions had startled her, and as Legolas ran his hands over her own, rubbing his thumbs along her fingers, she realized that she felt the same then as she had in that first moment.

Aragorn shifted a bit, pressing closer to her, and Shëanon was suddenly, inexplicably embarrassed that he was there. Could he tell what she was thinking? Could he feel the shaking in her limbs, the pounding of her heart, and know that his friend was the cause of it? The notion that he might made her want to die.

After what was to her mind an eternity but what was in reality perhaps only a quarter of an hour, Legolas released her hands, returning them to her lap. They felt cold the moment he let go, colder than they had before he had held them, though Shëanon did not say so. In fact, she could not manage to say anything, and while her mind screamed for her to thank him, her mouth would not move.

"Hennaid," she managed at last, but her voice sounded almost foreign to her ears as she ground out the awkward thanks. She glanced up at him anxiously and saw that he had taken once more to watching the darkness, but he turned and offered her a soft, knowing smile. Shëanon dropped her eyes again.

She did not sleep that night, but she did not think that anyone else did, either. Certainly Aragorn sat awake all night, and Legolas, too. She did not even hear Gimli snoring; clearly the rain and the cold were too much for everyone, but Shëanon knew that even if it were not so, she would not have found sleep anyways. All night her mind raced.

_The child shivers from the cold. Your hands are like ice. _His words sounded over and over in her head, as vivid and real as if his smooth voice was once again in her ears. He had noticed that she was shivering; he had seemed genuinely concerned. She frowned. He had called her a child. Surely she was indeed a child in his eyes; how old must he have been? As old as Elladan and Elrohir? Her brothers thought her a child, too, but for some reason it bothered her greatly that Legolas should agree. It almost… hurt. Shëanon tried to assure herself that it was because she was a member of the fellowship and desired to be counted as equal with the others, but while that was indeed true, she felt that her displeasure stemmed from something else. _It is well that you are here, Shëanon_. She closed her eyes, remembering how her name had sounded on his lips. That was the only time he had used it, and she had thought on it many times since.

She clasped her hands tightly together as dawn slowly approached. She almost wished that Legolas would take them again, but she also hoped desperately that he would not. She was no longer very cold; Legolas was solid and warm beside her, and although she was tucked under Aragorn's arm and pressed to his side, she found that she was warmed more thoroughly by Legolas than by him, for heat seemed to radiate through her entire body from where it touched his. She remembered again how he had kissed her hand; his lips had all but burned her skin. She fidgeted, feeling disconcerted and self-conscious of her own thoughts. When morning came at last, she rose immediately, looking at neither Aragorn nor Legolas.

She was so very confused.

Just as Legolas had promised, it stopped raining later that day. The downpour did not slowly let up and then finally stop altogether; it ceased so suddenly that it seemed almost too good to be true. No one said anything about it at first, everyone fearing that to speak of it would bring back the torrents of icy water, but then the clouds began to clear and soon patches of blue were visible above them. With bated breath, the company watched the sky, heedless of the ground over which they strode as they walked with their heads craned back, until suddenly, miraculously, beams of faint silver peaked through the last of the clouds, and then the early winter sun came out.

"Ai, thank the Valar," Shëanon sighed, gratefully letting the warm rays of sunlight caress her face. Aragorn grinned at her as the hobbits applauded and cheered, and though everyone was still cold and wet, their clothes still sodden, the discontent had faded from their faces.

"If that had kept up much longer, we would have had to swim to Mordor," Boromir chuckled from somewhere behind her, and Shëanon smiled as the others laughed.

"I wasn't troubled at all," Gimli said happily, and her smile widened as they walked on.

When Gandalf stopped them for lunch, his own smile was broad and his eyes twinkled.

"Let us stop here to eat," he said happily. "Despite the weather, we have made good time. If we continue at this pace, we shall reach the Gap of Rohan in less than the forty days for which I had planned."

The place where they had stopped was riddled with rocks, and Gandalf moved to sit on one, his staff resting across his lap. The whole of the terrain seemed to sparkle slightly, the remaining moisture catching the sun's rays and throwing them back. The company moved about, eager for a meal in which their food would not be already soaked before it reached their mouths. Even Bill seemed to share in the good mood, whinnying happily and swishing his tail as packs of supplies were pulled from his back and Sam tended to him.

The air smelled wonderfully fresh and clean, Shëanon observed, the world purified by the week of rainfall and despite the lateness of the season and the coldness of the air, she felt that the grass was slightly greener and the earth less downtrodden.

"Any who have dry clothes should put them on," Aragorn called as he rummaged through a bag of food, procuring cured meat and cheese sealed in wax. At his words, Merry and Pippin seized their packs and began pulling out clothes, exclaiming that they had been wet for so long that their skin had become perpetually shriveled.

With her water skin halfway to her lips, Shëanon paused, blushing. She had dry clothes in her bag, kept safe by the smooth leather of her rucksack, and she longed to peel her wet clothes from her body. She shuffled closer to Aragorn, hovering uncertainly at his side as he worked, hoping desperately that no one would think to change in front of her. Her form cast a shadow over him, blocking the sun from where it had kissed his head, and he looked up. He must have seen something amusing on her face, for he smiled broadly for a moment and stood. She might have scowled if she were not so genuinely distressed.

His expression softened as she looked up at him, almost pleadingly, and to her relief he didn't laugh at her predicament. Bringing his hands to her shoulders, he scanned the area around them and then nodded at something behind her. She turned and saw a group of large boulders a small distance away.

"Over there, Shea," he murmured, steering her towards the outcropping of rocks. Shëanon walked quickly, lamenting the loss of the trees they had left behind. She noted as she went that the others were clearly waiting for her to go, and she ducked her head and quickened her pace. Aragorn walked with her across the large expanse of grass and brush and stopped when they reached the boulders, which were smooth and rounded from centuries of rain and wind upon them.

"I'll be right back," she mumbled, casting him a bashful but grateful smile as she hurried around the rock to change. She found a small space amidst the mercifully large boulders in which she would be shielded from every angle, and she dropped her pack.

Shëanon sank to her knees as she dug through her few belongings and extracted her spare set of clothes, still perfectly folded and dry. She laid them atop her pack and tugged off her boots, but as she brought her fingers to the hem of her tunic, she hesitated. She knew that no one could see her from where they were making camp, that Aragorn would let no one approach her as she dressed, but she was still reluctant, for despite the wall of rock, she still felt very much out in the open.

Finally she undressed, the damp fabric clinging to her skin as she clumsily cast it aside, goose bumps rising on her exposed skin. She tugged on the dry attire as quickly as she could, relishing the comfort of the dry cloth on her damp body. When she was once again dressed she headed back to where Aragorn waited for her, pausing just around the side of the boulder.

"Aragorn?" she called hesitantly, biting her lip.

"Yes?"

"Are the others, um…?"

She heard him chuckle. "Everyone is dressed, Shea. We can go back."

She emerged to find him waiting patiently where she left him, looking at the mountains to the east, noble despite his humble clothes. His eyes were warm as he looked over at her and, unexpectedly, he reached up and laid a hand upon her head, not quite mussing her hair as he often used to, before clasping her shoulder.

"Are you warmer now, mellon nín?" he asked, his tone serious though his eyes still smiled slightly.

Feeling a bit abashed, Shëanon nodded.

Aragorn tilted his head and offered her a small grin.

"Good," he said, bringing his arm now around her shoulders as they started back towards the company. "I worried about you during the night. I was grateful for Legolas."

Shëanon almost faltered in her footsteps, unable to meet Aragorn's eyes. She knew that to say nothing might be conspicuous, for Aragorn knew her so well, but she could do nothing but shrug as they came back up the hill to where the others sat eating their lunch. If Aragorn noticed her sudden awkwardness, he made no mention of it, and they sat down by Gandalf and Frodo and ate for a while, and then they journeyed on.

The weather held over the next days, cold but clear-skied and mild, and for that everyone was grateful. There were very few trees in the land, but there were bushes and thick brush, and eventually they found twigs and sticks dry enough to make a small fire, rejoicing to have a hot meal. Although there was tension still between Legolas and Gimli, the mood in the company was amicable and light. Shëanon had not herself spoken very much with the dwarf, but whether it was because she was young and a girl or because of the histories of their fathers, Gimli seemed not to mind her as much as he did the prince of Mirkwood. In fact, he was the only member of the company other than Gandalf and Aragorn not to address her as 'lady,' calling her instead 'lass.' Shëanon decided that this meant that he did not dislike her; at the very least he did not dislike her enough to call her 'elf,' as he called Legolas, and for her part Shëanon found that she was glad for the dwarf's presence, for he made her smile often and easily.

Despite the good weather and camaraderie, however, Shëanon had started to feel wary. A shadow had taken root in her mind, and she found that she felt eyes on her always. She took to watching the horizon, for she felt a warning on the wind that she could not ignore, and sleep came to her with more difficulty each night. When the company was settling down to sleep on the sixteenth night of the quest, Shëanon volunteered to take the first watch. Aragorn sighed, for she had sat up with him all the night before while he watched, but he did not protest as she strode away from him and clambered onto a rock from which to watch.

She sat facing the south, resting her elbows over her knees. The horizon was a jagged line. The hills no longer rolled into the distance but rather rose and fell sharply, and the company had spent the day hiking rather than walking. She suspected that the others were less than pleased by the change in the terrain, but Shëanon found that she preferred the new geography, unpredictable and uneven, to the monotony of the hills. That had been her opinion during the day, however; with the sun gone and the world in darkness, the unforgiving shapes seemed dangerous. She was relieved that the stars were out; the many sunless days and starless nights during the rain had unsettled her, and she was glad for the lights glittering high above her, familiar and permanent and steadfast, a reminder of the goodness of the Valar.

After several moments of listening to the others get comfortable and go to sleep, she felt someone come up behind her. She did not turn, for she knew who it was; only one member of the fellowship could step so lightly and come behind her so silently.

Legolas pulled himself gracefully up beside her, drawing in his knees to sit as she was.

"You watched last night, my lady," he pointed out, and Shëanon tore her gaze briefly from the shadows before her to see the small smile on his face. She blushed. He had been up with her and Aragorn the night before, and she had been jittery the entire time.

"So did you," she replied calmly, though her stomach had flipped when he had hoisted himself onto her perch. He was not sitting very close to her, not as close as Aragorn might have sat and certainly not as close as he had the night under the overhang, but he did not sit far, either, and Shëanon could feel the heat of his body. She quickly turned back to the horizon.

"I did," he agreed. They spoke softly, aware that the others were trying to sleep, and the sound of his hushed voice brought heat to her face. She waited for him to continue, to say something else, but he remained silent after that. Shëanon fidgeted nervously as the moments passed. Was he going to sit there with her all night? The thought horrified her, and she stared fixedly into the distance, hoping that maybe he would rise and bid her goodnight.

"Are you troubled by the south, my lady?" he asked when the quiet weighed so heavily on her ears that it hurt. She looked at him in surprise.

"Yes," she said after a moment of consideration. "It does."

Legolas furrowed his brows and looked in the direction that she had been so desperately staring.

"It troubles me also," he said slowly, and she suddenly saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before, a brief flicker of something potent and perhaps dangerous. "The very earth seems to call out in warning the further south we travel, and there has been something sinister in the air. Can you feel it?"

Shëanon stared at him, startled to hear her own thoughts from his mouth. Finally, she nodded.

"I am… unsettled by the sound of the wind. There is something wrong with it, but I cannot tell what. It has been tugging at the edge of my mind," she admitted quietly, averting her gaze. "And I find it troubling that we have not yet encountered any of the spies of the enemy, for Gandalf said that they are everywhere and ever watchful; I have felt in the past few days that there are eyes on us, and that they are not the eyes of something good."

Legolas looked at her intensely, the same gaze that so often robbed her of words, and her face began to burn anew.

"You are perceptive for one so young," he said finally, his eyes still on her face. "It is no wonder that Lord Elrond has such faith in you," he murmured, and Shëanon looked down at her hands. "You are right. Something is aware of us, and I fear that it will soon find us."

Shëanon looked up at the sky, sending up a silent prayer for their safety. It was quiet again for another long moment; she heard Boromir roll over somewhere behind them, and Sam mumble something about roses in his sleep.

"May I ask you a personal question, my lady?" Legolas asked softly, and a new wave of uneasiness washed over her. She considered for a moment, her mind racing, before she nodded apprehensively. Legolas shifted, angling his body to more directly face her.

"Which of your parents was human?" he inquired quietly, and Shëanon felt her entire body freeze.

She turned to him, completely bewildered, to see that he was watching her with curious, patient eyes. He could not have said anything more startling; of all the questions he might have asked, that was the very last one she had expected. She looked nervously over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the others lying awake, listening, but everyone except for the two of them was asleep and even if they were not, no one could have understood their elvish conversation anyways who did not already know the truth of her blood. She lowered her voice, regardless.

"Who told you that I am human?" she demanded, her voice almost a hiss. She was alarmed that she could have even come up in any conversation that the elven prince had been included in, and a feeling of hurt and betrayal appeared unbidden in her heart to think that someone had revealed her deepest secret to a complete stranger. While it was true that the elves of Imladris had surely figured it out for themselves—she had grown up five times faster than she should have, after all—very few people knew truly that she was Peredhel. Had Aragorn told him? He would never, Shëanon thought frantically. Although he and Legolas were friends, he knew more than anyone how sensitive Shëanon was about her parentage. Surely Elrond would not have revealed such a thing. Her brothers? Arwen? Why would they even mention it?

Her distress must have been on her face, for Legolas leaned toward her and smiled at her compassionately.

"Forgive me, Shëanon," he murmured apologetically, laying a hand over his heart and seeming to understand the reason for her sudden anxiety. "It was a guess."

Shëanon stared at him, dumbfounded.

"A guess?" she repeated blankly. Her heart was still pounding.

"Yes. I assure you, no one told me any such thing," he said solemnly, and Shëanon could see the honesty in his eyes. She blushed deeply and looked away from him, feeling foolish and strangely vulnerable. She had always believed that other than her small stature and perhaps her unusual hair color, she did not give any outward signs of being half-human.

"How did you know?" she asked, wringing her hands in her lap. She was not sure she wanted to know the answer, but she felt that she had to ask.

Legolas looked at her for a moment, and she almost feared that he would not answer.

"You sleep with your eyes closed, my lady," he said finally, almost off-handedly, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that burned her. "At first I thought that you slept so on the first night because you were so exhausted, but your eyes have been closed every time I have seen you sleep in the past weeks."

"I—" Shëanon didn't know what to say, and felt her face glowing scarlet as embers. She couldn't tell what was worse, that he had noticed this human quality, such un-elvish behavior, or that he had observed her sleeping enough times to notice it. Impulsively, she brought her hands to her cheeks as if to hide her blush from him, and drew her knees closer to her body. The ensuing silence grew so awkward to her ears that she was tempted to get up and walk away just to escape it, but she knew that she could not have justified such cowardice later.

"Lord Elrond and his children are half-elven," Legolas said steadily after a moment, and although she was still gazing out at the distant shadows of the night, she could feel his eyes on her. "And they are among the most revered elves on the earth today."

"Yes, they are," Shëanon agreed hollowly.

"Shëanon."

Shëanon turned to him, not entirely because he had spoken her name, but because his voice had become low and serious. The sound of it made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. His eyes bore into hers, his gaze intense and piercing once more, but for once she did not look away.

"I will speak of this to no one, if you do not wish it," he said solemnly. "But, by the Valar, do not ever wish to be other than as you are. Eru Ilúvatar does not make mistakes."

Shëanon swallowed thickly. For someone who hardly knew her, Legolas had guessed at her thoughts with startling accuracy, and she felt both embarrassed and taken aback by his words. His face, however, his gentle, honest expression soothed some of her anxiety. She glanced away, her heart racing. She grimaced to think he might hear it.

"I do not know who my parents are," she confided, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. "Elrohir and Elladan found me wandering in the woods when I was a child."

"I am sorry."

Shëanon shrugged.

"It was very difficult for your father to let you go," Legolas murmured. "I am sure he worries even now."

"What of your father?" Shëanon asked quietly. She was surprised by her own nerve, but she took a breath and continued. "He will surely also worry for you."

"He will, but when word reaches him of our mission, he will understand why I have gone."

Shëanon was jealous of how sure his voice sounded. Thranduil, she was sure, would indeed understand. And, she reminded herself, Legolas could take care of himself. He was a powerful warrior, head of the guard of Mirkwood, and the most talented archer alive in Middle Earth. His place in the company was not as preposterous as hers; his father did not have to worry that he would freeze in horror at the first sight of trouble and be slain on the spot. Shëanon did not have any battle experience, but she knew that Legolas fought ruthlessly to keep his homeland safe. How must it feel, she wondered, to go to sleep each night wondering that your home might be taken by evil in the morning?

Suddenly, Elladan's voice was in her ear. _I am sure these messengers would love to speak with you about their home_. She bit her lip. Legolas was no mere messenger; he was the prince of the Woodland Realm.

She shot a sidelong glance at him and saw that he, like she had been, was looking out at the ragged land. Did she dare? She hesitated for a long moment.

"Um—your highness?" she managed at last, her voice small.

Legolas turned to look at her with raised brows, seeming surprised, and then, to her horror, he laughed. It was a quiet sound, and not unkind, but she still flinched at it.

"You need not call me that, my lady," he chuckled, shaking his head a bit.

"Well, you do not have to call me 'my lady,'" Shëanon answered defensively, feeling her blush even at her ears. She wanted the rock beneath her to swallow her up.

"Fair enough," Legolas smiled, his eyes still warm and full of amusement. "What is on your mind, Shëanon?"

"Well…" Shëanon faltered, her already shaky confidence diminished, but it was too late to turn back. Legolas regarded her patiently, light still in his eyes. She drew in a breath. "Well, I have never—obviously—journeyed to Mirkwood, and I—I just—I wondered…" her voice trailed off awkwardly as she floundered for words that would not sound foolish. She wanted to slap herself. What was wrong with her that she could not even ask a simple question?

"You wish to speak of Mirkwood?" Legolas asked, looking surprised again. He was grinning once more, she noted, a fact that did not help her, flustered as she was.

She nodded hesitantly, hoping he would not laugh at her again.

"If you don't mind…" she muttered, fidgeting a bit.

He smiled more broadly, and her heart lurched to see that he seemed pleased.

"I will gladly tell you anything that you wish to know," he said, and, somewhat reassured, Shëanon smiled shyly back at him.

They did not wake Gandalf for the second watch, and sat instead talking quietly until the sky grew light in the east, the Misty Mountains a dark silhouette against the vivid pink of the dawn behind them.

_Translations:_

_I hên gîr na helch- The child shivers with cold._

_In caim lîn nar sui heleg- Your hands are like ice._

_Hennaid- Thanks._

A/N: Filler chapter, lots of "and then they ate lunch. And then they slept. And then they walked." Lol. Guess what though stuff actually happens in the next chapter yay! Let me know what you think, thanks to anyone reading! I'll try to get the next chapter up in the next few days. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Aiër- Chapter Six

The company was making good time as they journeyed ever south along the foothills of the mountains. The terrain had become unforgiving and the nights grew longer, but the days at the very least were passed in pleasant conversation. Even when their feet were aching and they were cold or hungry, longing for the comforts of home, no one complained. Shëanon was not at all perturbed by the long hours of walking, and although she missed Rivendell, missed her brothers and sister, the novelty of the outside world was still enough to capture her interest. Monotonous as the days were, she enjoyed the feeling of purpose, the sense of adventure.

She also had a lot on her mind.

Since their night together keeping watch, the dynamic between Shëanon and Legolas had changed. She had been surprised to find that it was easy to talk to him—as easy as talking to Aragorn. While at first she had been nervous and hesitant, stammering through most of her words, Legolas never wavered in his kindness or patience, and his genuine interest in her thoughts and enthusiasm in their conversation had eventually put her mind at ease. For the rest of the night, she had spoken freely. After having graciously answered her many questions about his homeland, and then about other places he had seen, she was surprised when he had asked her questions of his own. At times they spoke lightly and pleasantly, and at others their conversation grew more serious, and when the sun finally rose, Shëanon felt that they had spoken for an eternity and yet only for a few moments at once. Every day after, Legolas stayed near her as they walked, sometimes speaking to her and sometimes not, but the silences were no longer awkward.

Not many days later, the fellowship was stopped on top of a large hill, mottled with rocks and barren shrubs. The boulders were not those that Shëanon was used to, jutting out of the earth at strange angles and in strange formations, sometimes sticking bizarrely straight up. She sat atop one of the more ordinary stones, with her legs bent and crossed under her as Aragorn drew on his pipe. Gandalf had decided that they could afford to rest a bit longer than they usually did, for they had covered more land than he had expected them to. Unsurprisingly, the announcement was welcome by everyone, and as another fire was kindled and hot food was dished out and passed around, the company sat and unwinded as they had not previously done, for the prospect of travelling on was for once not immediate and pressing on their minds.

The sun shone down on Shëanon's face, and she basked in its warmth as she breathed the cool wind that came down off the mountains. Frodo and Sam sat a ways away with Gimli and Gandalf, the four of them still eating lunch, but Merry and Pippin were being given a lesson in swordplay by Boromir while she and Aragorn watched in amusement. Shëanon smiled as the hobbits brought their small blades enthusiastically through the air; they were unskilled but eager and fast to learn, she saw, calling out encouragement to each other and goading their teacher. Boromir himself was a good instructor, his eyes lit with mirth as he laughed at the antics of his small students.

"Move your feet!" Aragorn called as Pippin teetered under Boromir's blows. Shëanon grinned at him, remembering how he had once given her similar instructions. Aragorn had helped Elladan and Elrohir teach her swordsmanship, and she reminisced over the calculating, appraising expression on his face as he watched the hobbits jump about.

"Alright, alright, very good," Boromir chuckled, pushing his hair out of his face as the clang of metal on metal momentarily died down. "Rest for a few moments and then we will start again."

"He's obviously afraid of how good we've gotten," Pippin said devilishly as he and his friend walked over to Frodo and Sam, clearly intent on using their break to have another few pieces of bacon.

"Of course he is," Merry agreed, looking over his shoulder at the man of Gondor. "He wants time to re-gather his strength lest we overcome him too easily."

Boromir, taking a drink of water, only rolled his eyes good-naturedly and propped one booted foot up on a rock, and Shëanon giggled a bit at the look of resigned exasperation on his face. Boromir heard and turned towards her.

"They show no appreciation for their teacher," he smiled. He gestured to the open space before him. "Would you like a turn, my lady?"

Shëanon's brows rose on her forehead. She opened her mouth in surprise.

"A turn?" she asked hesitantly.

Boromir's smile widened and he nodded.

"Yes. You have a sword, I see. I will show you how to wield it."

Shëanon felt her face color as she realized what was happening. Boromir thought that she could not fight, and she did not know whether to be embarrassed, indignant, or angry. She cast a startled glance at Aragorn, hoping to gauge his reaction and see if maybe he would intervene on her behalf, but all he did was grin and quirk an eyebrow at her. She glared and turned her eyes back to Boromir, whose kindly, patient gaze filled her with both chagrin and consternation. She clasped her hands in her lap.

"No, thank you," she said awkwardly. "I can already, um, wield my sword."

Boromir chuckled and Shëanon blushed, for he was looking at her with a knowing expression, and she could tell that he had misinterpreted her reluctance as bashfulness to rise and be taught.

"Well, there is always room for improvement," he said, and twirled his sword in his hand. The blade caught the midday's light and threw it about as the sound of the sharp metal cutting through the air met Shëanon's ears. "If evil should find us, I would have you be able to defend yourself."

At this, Shëanon clenched her jaw and lifted her chin. She was capable of much more than self-defense. For a fleeting moment, she was tempted to accept his offer, only to relish the surprise on his face when she effortlessly blocked the slow, obvious swings he had given to Merry and Pippin and advanced on him, driving him back with the perfect form and precision she had spent the past thirteen years working at, but she repressed the urge. Boromir, she knew, was only trying to help; it was not his fault that she looked like a helpless little girl, and she was not such a person as to throw kindness back in someone's face. Her father's image flitted suddenly across her vision, and she thought of how he would have disapproved had she so haughtily and scornfully shown the man up.

"Thank you, my lord," she said politely, if stiffly, feeling her blood hot in her cheeks as she realized that their interaction had drawn the attention of the others. "But I assure you, I would not have burdened myself with arms that I could not bear. I know already how to defend myself."

Boromir raised his eyebrows, seeming surprised and slightly skeptical, but he recovered with a quick smile and a slight bow of his head. "A spar then, to showcase the skill that you possess."

Shëanon bit her lip. Boromir was not being unkind, but she still felt a twinge of animosity toward him. She would absolutely not spar with Boromir—not because she was not up for the challenge, but because she did not like to have an audience. The hobbits were leaning forward, calling out for a contest while Boromir looked at her with a teasing glint in his light eyes, standing tall and confident before her. Shëanon felt suddenly trapped and looked again at Aragorn, who was staring at Boromir with a peculiar look in his eyes.

"Come now, Boromir," a calm voice called, and Shëanon turned to see Legolas coming over to them. He had been standing a small distance away from the others, surveying the land. He stepped lightly to Shëanon's side. "We have walked for many days without respite. Lady Shëanon is surely tired."

Shëanon stared at him. He was looking at Boromir, but she could see even just by his strong profile that while his tone was light and joking, his eyes were slightly hard. She was slightly taken aback. Legolas seemed adamant; she knew instinctively that he would not permit her to fight with Boromir whether he accepted the claim or not, but she doubted that the man would perceive this.

Boromir's eyes widened, however, and regret showed on his chastened face. "Of course," he said apologetically, smiling at Shëanon once more. "Forgive me, my lady. I will let you rest."

Blushing and slightly flustered, Shëanon looked down at her hands. She was annoyed that while he had chuckled at her claims of skill, he had been all too ready to believe that she was tired and in need to rest. She was an elf! She did not tire as quickly as he! And although Boromir admittedly had more battle experience, she was sure that he was no more skilled in combat than she. What bothered her, however, was that Legolas had been the one to suggest that she possessed such physical weakness. Did he truly think her tired, or was he just trying to save her from having to spar? If that was the case, did he intervene because he sensed her reluctance? Did he think she was afraid to lose?

"Merry and Pippin," Aragorn called suddenly. "Are you ready to go again?"

The hobbits hurried to their feet, unfazed by the slightly uncomfortable tension amongst the men and elves, and Aragorn touched her arm. Shëanon looked up as he leaned close to her ear, his face suddenly thoughtful and serious.

"I do not want you to draw out your bow or sword unless it is absolutely necessary," he murmured in elvish.

Shëanon stared, but Aragorn had turned his face back to Boromir and the hobbits.

"Why?" she asked quietly, although there was an edge to her voice. She was not to use her weapons? Why then was she there?

Aragorn shot a meaningful look at her. "It is an advantage to be underestimated by your enemies, Shea. Let it be believed that you are no threat."

"I had not realized," she said slowly, not taking her eyes from the ranger's face, "that I was among enemies."

"It may be that you are not," he answered. "But even so, secrets are best kept when they are known by as few as possible, and we do not know who might be watching us."

Shëanon said nothing as she mulled over his words, and then she nodded. Aragorn squeezed her shoulder.

Everyone else was watching Boromir teach Merry and Pippin, but Legolas still stood beside her, his strong arms now crossed over his broad chest. His face was impassive and smooth, but she knew by the way he and Aragorn traded a significant glance that he had been listening to their conversation. Understanding flashed across her mind, and she realized that Legolas had shared Aragorn's thoughts as he excused her from Boromir's insistence. Something fluttered in her stomach as she considered this.

Just then, as she watched Boromir correct Merry's stance, a sudden wave of unease washed over her, and she tensed. She looked at Aragorn again, but he had relaxed once more, his eyes again smiling and his pipe back between his teeth. Just as Shëanon was leaping to her feet, her boots making no sound as they landed on the stone beneath her, Legolas stepped quickly away from her, leaping agilely onto one of the many boulders that formed the uneven surface upon which they rested. He was looking up at the sky, and as Shëanon followed his gaze, her eyes widened in surprise and bewilderment. Something dark and sinister hung on the air far in the distance, no more than faint line in the sky, but as she looked at it, she saw that it was coming gradually closer. She blinked. The shape seemed to be almost writhing, and she knew that it was something alive.

Without looking away from the strange mass coming swiftly towards them, she scurried, alarmed, up over the bumpy, mossy rocks to stand at Legolas's side. Distantly, she could hear Boromir and the hobbits still roughhousing behind them, and she knew that they had not yet noticed the elves' sudden unease.

"Revia anna," Shëanon observed nervously, not because she thought that Legolas was unaware that the black shape was approaching, but because she needed to voice her worry.

She watched Legolas's eyebrows draw together as he strained to identify the shadow.

"What is that?" she heard Sam ask from his place by the fire, and the foreboding that plagued her increased as the others finally noticed that elves had seen something.

"Nothing," came Gimli's voice, dismissively. "It's just a wisp of cloud."

Shëanon took another step forward, the distant shape becoming clearer, more definitive. The dark form flew momentarily over the sun, and as it passed through the rays of light, she saw that the shape was not one solid mass, for the sun's beams were not entirely obscured, only broken. It was instead, she realized, many creatures flying together… on wings. 'Birds?' she thought, confused. They were surely not any birds such as she had ever seen, no mere migrating geese…

"It's moving fast… Against the wind."

_We do not know who might be watching us._

Just as the answer came into Shëanon's mind, it came also from Legolas's lips.

"Crebain, from Dunland!" he shouted, whirling around and leaping from the boulder.

"Hide!" Aragorn cried, and Shëanon snapped her eyes away from the approaching spies and spun, jumping off after Legolas.

There was ensuing chaos as the company scrambled to flee from the flock of crows. Aragorn and Gandalf were hollering orders to extinguish the fire and throw rucksacks into the bushes. The hobbits were frantically trying to gather up the food, their eyes wide and their hands clumsy as they fumbled with packs of supplies, but Boromir snatched the cooked meat from their hands and tossed it unceremoniously into the underbrush as Aragorn seized Bill by the reins and urged him into a cluster of rocks.

Shëanon thought she could hear her heart pounding in her ears, but it sounded all wrong, and as she grabbed up Merry and Pippin's abandoned cloaks from where they had lain, crumpled on the ground after being cast aside to practice with Boromir, she realized with a flash of revulsion and panic that it was not the beating of her anxious heart that she heard; it was the beating of wings. She could feel the air shudder under the sinister cacophony that the birds wrought, disturbing the wind with their unnatural speed, and the cloaks almost fell from her hands as she tossed a glance over her shoulder at the approaching creatures, close enough now that her half-elven eyes could make out individual feathers, black as the night but for where they gleamed silvery blue under the winter sun. They were large, she saw, too large for ordinary ravens, and their sleek bodies seemed to cut like knives through the sky.

Shëanon turned again as the first cry sounded, not so much the cawing of a crow as the shrieking of a foul beast, and shiver ran down her spine. The others were hastily taking cover, rolling under bushes and into the gaps under the ancient rocks. Watching Gimli dive into a shrub, she realized with a start that she too needed to hide. She whirled around, seeking Aragorn amidst the commotion. She found his eyes watching her from beneath an overhanging boulder across the way, silently bidding her to get out of sight, and instinctively she ran to him, the cries of the crebain ringing in her ears. She had only taken a few steps, however, when something closed around her wrist and pulled.

With a small yelp, Shëanon felt her feet come out from under her as she was yanked backwards and down, the world suddenly a blur of grey and brown and blue as she fell. She hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her from the impact on the unyielding rock, but before she could react, an arm came around her waist and pulled her, so quickly that she at first didn't know what had hit her, back and into something very solid.

"Be still," a voice breathed, right against her ear, and Shëanon's whole body tensed as Legolas pulled her closer against his chest, further into the shadow of the rock under which he had dragged her, the flapping wings and shrills screams of the birds unbearably loud as they descended upon the company. Less than a heartbeat's length passed, and then in the space between the unforgiving earth and the jutting boulder there was the flash of talons. She could see large, dark shadows on the ground as the crebain swooped low, their cruel eyes searching, their wing beats as loud as the hammering of rain on the Bruinen during a storm.

Shëanon held her breath, praying that the birds noticed nothing—that no trace of their presence had been left amongst the rocks to give them away. She wished desperately to cover her ears, for the piercing sound of the crows' calls echoed off of the great boulders in harsh waves, but Legolas had ordered her not to move. Her whole body was shaking, she knew; a combination of the crows' probing eyes and the fact that she lay in Legolas's arms. She could feel his breath at the nape of her neck, the rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder blades, but her panicked mind could hardly register it with the crebain flapping so close.

Suddenly, a black feathered wing beat inches from her face and Shëanon recoiled, unconsciously drawing back, away from the vile thing and into Legolas. She felt him tighten his grip around her, as if he was trying to pull her away from the evil creature, even though they were already impossibly close.

Finally, the screeching grew fainter, the sound of beating wings fading on the wind as the birds passed on. Shëanon lay still as a statue, straining her ears, closing her eyes against the feeling of Legolas against her, and then finally, when she was sure that it was safe, she rolled out from his grip, from under their cover, and pulled herself to her feet.

She stood, trembling slightly and panting, as Legolas rolled out after her and rose gracefully beside her. She looked away from him, distantly aware of the others also emerging from their hiding places.

"Are you alright, aiër?" Legolas asked, bringing his hand to her shoulder and lightly touching the place where she suspected a bruise was forming from falling so heavily to the ground. Shëanon looked up at him in surprise. His brow was creased with worry and his mouth was turned down into a slight frown.

Shëanon blushed under his gaze and, although she tried to ignore the feeling, she could not help but flush a bit in pleasure. She only knew a little of the sylvan tongue, for it was seldom spoken in Imladris, but she knew enough to know what Legolas had called her. _Aiër_ meant 'little one' in the languages of Lothlórien and the Woodland Realm, and although she had been called such in Sindarin many times, something in Legolas's voice as he had said the word resonated deep in her heart.

"Yes," she murmured, "I'm alright."

Legolas turned and squinted off in the direction that the crebain had flown, the dark mass of the flock still visible in the sky. His hand was still on her arm.

"They knew we were here," he said flatly.

"Yes, they did," said Gandalf in disgust as he came up beside them. "Spies of Saruman."

The wizard's expression was grim, as was Aragorn's as he stepped up to Shëanon and placed a hand on her head. She wondered if she looked shaken, and hoped that if she did, he would attribute it to the crebain. The other members of the fellowship all stepped forward—the hobbits wide-eyed and pale, Boromir somber, and Gimli surly and covered in dirt and leaves and twigs. Everyone turned to Gandalf.

"The passage south is being watched," he sighed. "We must take the path of Caradhras." His voice was hard as he looked over his shoulder, eastward, at the formidable peak of the mountain, terrible and intimidating where it rose into the sky in the distance. Gandalf brushed off his hat and placed it back on his head as everyone absorbed the horrible news.

Shëanon traded a glance with Aragorn, whose face held all the trepidation that she felt. Not only would they have to backtrack a bit to take the mountain pass, wasting another few days; but to go through the mountains with winter hard at their heels was madness. They would surely freeze to death amongst the high, frozen peaks.

"Come, we have no time to waste," Gandalf commanded, looking sharply at each of the company. "Those foul creatures may return; we must go quickly if we want to keep our whereabouts secret."

With much of the lightheartedness gone from the group, they walked with heavy steps back in the direction from whence they had come, veering eastward as they went.

"I do not care what they say about hobbits and enduring the weather," Shëanon whispered to Aragorn a few days later. "The mountain is bitter and ruthless. They will freeze to death."

Aragorn winced as he glanced over at Frodo, walking with Sam and Gandalf ahead of them, his hobbit trousers only reaching midway down his calf and his cloak hardly much longer.

"We have wood for fire," he said reluctantly, and Shëanon could feel his worry, the burden of it a heavy weight on his shoulders. "We will make it."

The did indeed have firewood, for Boromir had warned them of the risks of traveling through the mountains, but Shëanon suspected that he could not feel the icy breath of winter on the back of his neck, as she could on hers, nor hear with increasing clarity and dread the howling of the wind the closer they drew to the mountain pass. If Shëanon thought that the hills had grown steep, it was nothing compared to the foothills of the Misty Mountains, through which the company now journeyed.

That night when the company stopped, there was apprehension and unease. They had reached the base of the pass that would lead them high up into the cloudy shroud about the rocky ridges, and the mountains loomed tall and daunting against the night.

Shëanon was grateful that there were at least some trees to seek comfort under, although she knew that they would not last for very long; she could see as she craned her neck upward where the bare branches became withered and weak and then vanished entirely, unable to withstand the cold of the high altitudes that awaited the fellowship.

Sighing softly and sending out a wordless prayer to the Valar, Shëanon lay out her cloak and sat, braiding her hair and waiting for Aragorn. The members of the company were less spread out than usual that night; Boromir lay right beside Merry and Pippin, who as always were lined up with Frodo and Sam, and Gimli had settled right at their feet. Shëanon and Aragorn alone had laid their packs down a ways away, for although Gandalf had the first watch, she knew that he would lie at Frodo's other side, as he did every night.

Shëanon frowned. The wizard had disappeared for an hour, vanishing into the trees, and when he had returned it was to seek out Aragorn, who sat beside her on the cold ground as they silently passing her pouch of dried berries back and forth between them and made themselves comfortable for another night in the cold air. Gandalf had come to stand before them, the dark shape of him obscuring the stars which served as the only light for the fellowship, as they could not again risk open flame unless their need was dire. He spoke Aragorn's name, and although the sound was soft, his tone was not, and as Aragorn set aside his pipe and rose to speak with the wizard, Shëanon had known that the conversation that they were to have was not for her ears.

She could see them from where she sat, cross-legged on her cloak and wrapped in her blanket. The wizard's face was in shadow, the wide brim of his ragged hat hiding his features from her, but even from a distance she could read Aragorn's face with ease. As Gandalf spoke, the ranger had stood straighter, lifting his chin even as the light in his eyes flickered; it was the solid stance of determination that he assumed in the face of hardship, and Shëanon wondered what ill news the wizard was imparting on him. If she had tried, she could have listened in, for the two in the shadows of the trees were not so far that they were out of her range of hearing, but she dared not. Aragorn would tell her what had been said, if he wished to.

Shëanon studied the night sky, the movements of the constellations as the night grew older and she waited for Aragorn to finish his discussion. A cold wind blew at her face and assaulted her weary eyes. She curled closer into her blanket, wanting to lie down and yet not trusting herself to stay awake. Through her reverie, she heard the faint sound of elven footfalls over the sparse, dying grass.

"You do not have the watch tonight, aiër," Legolas murmured as he lowered himself to the ground beside her. Although she did not avert her eyes from the star-scattered heavens, Shëanon allowed a bashful smile to take to her lips. Legolas had been calling her 'aiër' since the run-in with the crebain a few days before.

"I do not," she conceded, seeing him shift in her peripheral vision. It did not surprise her that Legolas was still awake while the others slept soundly; Shëanon had noticed over the weeks that the elven prince stood gazing out into the evening long after the others had retired and was awake before the rest of the company rose. Whenever she had the watch or when she sat watch with Aragorn, Legolas always sat up with them until the dawn. She knew that he surely slept sometimes, but she had not yet seen him do so; certainly she always slept sooner and woke later than he, for he had noticed that her rest was not the rest of the elves.

"I am waiting for Aragorn," she explained softly, finally meeting his eyes. At her words, Legolas glanced over her shoulder at where Aragorn and Gandalf stood speaking in hushed voices, occasionally peering out at the horizon as they did. Shëanon watched his eyes narrow slightly, and she was certain that he was momentarily listening in, before he looked back into her face.

"I am sure that he would appreciate your devotion," he said quietly, and Shëanon could not help but blush, "but I do not think that Aragorn will be rejoining you anytime soon. You should take some sleep."

"I don't mind waiting," she insisted, and she meant it, for although she had grown slightly sheepish to hear her undisguised dedication to the ranger spoken of, she knew that she would indeed do anything for him—even if it was waiting up for him all night. However, her motivation just then was not entirely selfless, and so she did not elaborate.

Legolas seemed mildly amused, the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin as he observed her fierce expression.

"I do not doubt it," he assured her, and for a moment Shëanon was captivated by the sight of smile. She internally shook herself as he continued to speak. "Tomorrow, however, we take to the mountains, and the journey will be arduous. By nightfall you will wish you had rested, and I cannot say whether you will be able to do so once we are a day's walk up. This may well be your last opportunity for sleep until we come down from the cold."

Shëanon bit her lip as she considered his words, remembering when Aragorn had given her a similar warning on the first night of the quest and how she had been all but dead on her feet the following day. She looked anxiously over at where he stood with Gandalf, and knew that Legolas was right that he would be talking for a long while longer.

"Well—Well then Aragorn should rest, too," she stammered, and Legolas's eyebrows rose on his smooth forehead. "Perhaps Gandalf will not keep him much longer…"

"Perhaps not. But Aragorn would not want you kept up as well."

"I can manage," she said firmly, and something in Legolas's eyes glinted.

"Shëanon," he sighed, and she was instantly alarmed by the regret in his gaze as he looked over at Aragorn before turning once more to regard her anxious face. His expression had grown serious. "Aragorn asked me to get you to sleep," he said quietly, and Shëanon felt her face harden.

"_Get_ me to sleep?" she repeated flatly, indignation flaring up inside her as she glared over her shoulder at where the ranger stood, but he did not meet her eyes. She turned back to Legolas, a scowl still on her face. "I do not need to be put to bed," she whispered fiercely, although her face had grown hot as she thought of the childish reason why she so desperately awaited Aragorn.

"Your father asked us to look after you," he explained patiently, meeting her flashing gaze. "We swore to him that we would."

Shëanon was thoroughly taken aback by these words, and she stared at him in astonishment for a moment. She had of course been present when Aragorn had promised Lord Elrond that he would protect her, but it had never occurred to her that her father might have asked his friend's son the same favor.

"My father asked _you_ to look after me?" she breathed, stunned and dismayed.

Legolas bowed his golden head, and Shëanon could have wept as the implications of this entered her mind. She felt suddenly, unbearably foolish. Certainly he had been showing her kindness over the past weeks because of this oath to her father, the Lord of Imladris and longtime friend to the Elvenking. She found that she could no longer meet his eyes, and she looked instead at where her knuckles were white from her grip on her blanket. Her eyes were burning again, although she knew it was no longer a result of the bitter wind, and a lump had formed in her throat.

Shëanon remembered with a pang how he had sat by her that night in the rain, trying to shield her from the wind with his own body and warming her numb fingers with his own hands and breath. _Aragorn_, he had said, with a pointed look at the ranger, _the child shakes with cold_. She remembered how he had sat up with her all night keeping watch. _It was very difficult for your father to let you go_, he had informed her in the darkness, and she had not wondered how he had known. She thought of the other day with the crows, how he had pulled her down just as they swept over the company, how she had trembled in his strong arms, how he had touched her shoulder where she had fallen with such concern in his piercing eyes. Shëanon closed her eyes, humiliation burning her. How obvious it was, that he had been acting on her father's orders. She was nothing but a burdensome child to him, a little girl that he promised his friend he would safeguard, and she had thought, she had dared to think…

'What?' she thought furiously. 'What did I think? That he might have—that he could have…' She could not even finish the thought, too embarrassed by the notion even in the privacy of her own mind.

"I am sure my father meant well," she said softly, bitterly, straining to keep the tremor from her voice, "but I can look after myself."

"I never thought you could not," Legolas said calmly, but Shëanon kept her eyes glued on the stars directly ahead of her. She wondered if he had any idea how crushed she was, and she was angry that she was allowing herself to be so upset. Even though she knew that it should not have mattered if Legolas had made a hundred promises to her father, it did. It mattered greatly.

"Come now, Shëanon. I will guard your sleep," he said softly. The words were said with such kindness and understanding, but Shëanon felt every nerve in her entire body light with new suspicion, with dread.

"What do you mean, 'guard my sleep'?" she asked, her tense voice hardly louder than the wind. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears; the stars she had been studying went out of focus as she waited for his response, everything in her praying, desperately hoping that he didn't know…

"Does not Aragorn take it upon himself each night to wake you when your sleep becomes troubled?" Legolas asked quietly, almost casually.

If Shëanon had ever felt so distressed and dejected, she could not remember it. He knew, then. Perhaps it had been naïve of her to think that he would not; several times since they had left Rivendell, Aragorn had had to shake her in the middle of the night, for Sauron and his wrathful flame haunted her dreams. The first time her eyes had snapped open and found Aragorn propped on his elbow and leaning over her, his face shadowed in the early hour before dawn, Shëanon had not known where she was.

"Aragorn?" She had breathed, her limbs shaking. He had nodded, his eyes dark and probing.

"You were having a nightmare," he'd whispered, and as soon as he'd said it, the dream had come back to her with startling clarity and she was almost amazed that the whole world was not in flames.

"Oh," she had whimpered, bringing her hands to her eyes. Aragorn had drawn her close to him then, one arm wrapped around her.

"It wasn't real, Shea," he had murmured close to her ear. "Go back to sleep."

She had spent the rest of the night with her face against his shoulder, his fingers occasionally at her hair and rubbing against her temple as if she were a cat, but despite this closeness, she had found no more sleep that night.

"Was that another guess?" she asked Legolas dully, instinctively putting up a front of apathy, her voice hollow and low.

"It was not," he admitted. Shëanon did not look away from the night sky, but she could feel his eyes on her. "I have seen him do it."

"I see."

Shëanon drew her legs close to her chest as a wave of heat washed over her, her face and ears and neck burning. Too many of her secrets were lost to her in the night.

"If Aragorn wishes it of me, then I will try to sleep," she muttered at last, still looking away from him and hoping to end the conversation. "But you do not have to… guard me."

"I know that I do not have to," he said, and she was surprised and almost angry to hear the smile in his gentle words. At last she turned to him, noting immediately the warmth of his expression, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, ever so slightly lit with mischief and teasing; she felt equally furious and miserable as she realized that he was mildly amused.

She wished he would leave, that she could leave—that she was back in Imladris in her room, alone and in privacy, or else out on the practice fields, shooting with such ardor that she became numb in her heart and body. She dropped her eyes, saying nothing, for what could she have said?

"Aiër."

Shëanon glanced back up at him, almost against her will, but the sound of the endearment spoken low in the night was too much and she found that she needed to look at Legolas, needed to see his face. He no longer seemed entertained. Shëanon stared at him, hesitating, her heart in her throat, for Legolas was looking at her strangely. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes pensive and bottomless, his mouth set in a line, and she could almost feel his gaze touching her as it lighted over her face. She could sense then that he had finally caught her distress, and she wanted to hide from his keen appraisal, lest he find something in her face that she did not wish to share.

Finally he spoke, his voice solemn and thoughtful.

"I know not what evil plagues your dreams, penneth. Aragorn has not told me, and would not do so were I to ask. Does that comfort you?"

Mutely, she nodded, and Legolas smiled at her. Shëanon felt profoundly affected by him in that moment—frighteningly so—though she could not have put the feelings in words. She knew that whether or not he had told her father that he would look after her, his heart was truly kind, but for some reason the notion made her feel worse.

"Good," he murmured, still with that gentle smile. "Lie down, then, aiër. The hour grows late, and we should both be well rested on the morrow."

Shëanon did not want to lie down; she did not like the idea of it with him so close, and indeed what if she did have a nightmare, or something worse? She flushed to think about it, but she knew that she could not protest any longer, with the stars high in the sky and the rest of the company lost in their own dreams; she would have to shove her own emotions aside. She knew that they did indeed need their rest, and furthermore she felt that it would not have helped her case to argue like a little girl.

Shifting to kneel on the cold ground, Shëanon spread her cloak over the grass and tried to make a spot suitable for sleeping, painfully aware that she was being watched. Her fingers fumbled as she reached for her pack and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Legolas move. She glanced up to see him sprawling out beside her, stretching out on his back and bringing his hands together behind his head. He caught her gaze and raised his eyebrows at her, and Shëanon looked back at her fingers. Never in her life had she felt as young and naïve as she did in that moment, seeing Legolas lying so close to her, his strong body so close to hers, his skin the color of moonlight, the stars reflected in his eyes.

Feeling awkward and overwhelmed by the conversation they had just had, Shëanon lowered herself to the ground next to Legolas. She rolled onto her side, facing away from him, lying much further away than she would have been beside Aragorn and yet still feeling terribly close. She pressed her eyes closed, but her mind would not settle. _Your father asked us to look after you. I will guard your sleep. _Eru what was wrong with her? The words they had spoken in the dark echoed in her ears for many hours, until she grew so angry, so upset and anxious and embarrassed and horribly, foolishly hopeful that her exhausted mind finally relented and she fell into a quick sleep.

When next Shëanon opened her eyes, the dark of the sky had given way to a bleary purple in which the stars were only fading memories. Aragorn was leaning over her, and one look at his haggard face told her that he had not slept. Shëanon frowned as she sat up, but she held her tongue, for she knew that Aragorn did not need to be chastised. She cast a wary glance to her left, but Legolas was gone.

The next few days were bleak. The path that the company took was steep and narrow, and with every step she took Shëanon could feel the air get colder, the wind more severe. Soon their feet found snow beneath them, and all the world was frozen and white. Shëanon noted as they climbed ever higher that the hearts of those around her were troubled and dark. The hobbits of course were miserable in the icy wind, but Frodo's steps were wearier, and she was troubled by the despondency in his eyes. Gandalf's words to the others had become as sharp as the wind, and Aragorn walked beside her, silent and brooding. She wondered if their ill moods stemmed from their conversation of a few nights before, for she could tell that they were burdened by worry and doubt. Indeed, as she turned and studied Aragorn's profile, it was more marred by dread than she had ever seen it, and her heartbeats were painful in her chest.

The sun's pale light shone on the surface of the snow as the company endeavored up an icy slope, Caradhras barren and hard alongside them. Shëanon walked at the back of the group, away from Gandalf, whose temper had grown fearsome, and from Legolas, whom she did not have the courage to face. Although Aragorn acted as a poor companion, grim-faced and absorbed in his thoughts, she found solace in his company and hoped that he found comfort in hers.

The sun was not yet high in the sky when a cry sounded on the air, and Shëanon glanced up as Frodo came tumbling down the mountainside, arms outstretched and casting about for something to grab onto as he rolled through the snow. The hobbit came to an abrupt stop as he collided with Aragorn, who bent to pick him up. Shëanon's eyes, however, were not on Frodo; glinting benignly several yards away, the One Ring stood out against the white of the snow in Frodo's wake.

"Aragorn," she called quietly as he brushed snow from the hobbit's small shoulders. Shëanon took a step forward, but Boromir was closer and as she watched he grasped the chain that kept the evil thing about Frodo's neck and lifted it from the ground. Fear filled her heart as Boromir held the ring aloft, and a shadow passed over his face.

"Boromir," said Aragorn from behind her, but Boromir did not seem to hear him.

"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing," he murmured as he stared in fascination at where the ring hung from the shining chain, and the cutting cold on the exposed skin of her face and hands faded from Shëanon's awareness as she studied the man before her on the mountain. There was longing in his eyes, she saw with much uneasiness, and—adoration? Shëanon stared at him, trying to perceive his intentions, fearing suddenly that Boromir would not relinquish that which he held. His fair eyes were lit by some unnatural light, and Shëanon suddenly felt his desire like poison in her own blood, and for an instant, as he reached to touch it with the gloved fingers of his free hand, her eyes flitted to the ring.

The mountain vanished, and fire leapt before her, brighter than anything she had ever seen before, and the sky was no longer blue but black with ash as the enemy spoke inside her mind.

"_She-elf."_

All at once, she felt as though a thousand white-hot pokers were being laid against her skin, and with effort such that she would not have thought she was capable of, Shëanon tore her gaze from the ring. Her whole body whirled around, and she stood panting for a moment in the snow, her eyes streaming, her limbs trembling violently. The freezing air did little to soothe the sudden sensation that had assaulted her flesh; Shëanon was tempted to pull back her sleeves and see if there were burn marks, though she knew that that was impossible. She felt nauseous—this was no coincidence. It knew. The ring knew—Sauron knew.

"Shea?"

She jumped and flinched as Aragorn spoke close behind her. Fearfully, she looked over her shoulder. To her immense relief, the other members of the fellowship were looking warily at Boromir, or else with concern at Frodo, who seemed to have gotten the ring back and had started back up the snowy incline, and only Aragorn seemed to have noticed that anything was wrong with her. His eyes were searching and dark, and for the first time his gaze seemed to her very much like Lord Elrond's, blue suddenly gray as a storm cloud, and Shëanon looked away from them.

"I do not trust Boromir," was all that she said, her voice slightly wavering but fierce nonetheless, and then she turned and followed the others.

Shëanon closed her eyes and cursed the mountain when snow began to fall late in the day. Although it began as only a gentle flurry with large, fluffy flakes, she knew that it would not stay that way as they reached higher altitudes. Sure enough, they found themselves in the midst of a formidable blizzard before night had fallen. The pass led them over a narrow ledge that hugged close to the ice-slicked rock of the mountain and fell away sharply to their right. The wind was howling in their ears, biting at their numb faces. The whole world was white and angry with the snowfall; chunks of ice were in Shëanon's hair, sticking to her eyelashes and gathering on her shoulders, but she said not a word.

The snow had become deeper than the hobbits were tall, and so Aragorn and Boromir had taken a halfling in each arm, Gimli leading poor Bill as Gandalf forged ahead with his staff, using his own body to try to make a path for the burdened men and stout dwarf behind him. They had been toiling thus for hours; the weather was too extreme for them to stop, and as the Gap of Rohan was being watched, they had no choice but to go forward. Shëanon shivered where she walked atop the snow. While the others struggled with each step, she and Legolas stepped lightly over the amassing snow banks by their heads, their feet leaving almost no prints behind them. Shëanon was cold; unlike Legolas, who seemed almost unaffected by the low temperature, she had her cloak clutched tightly about her shoulders, and she shuddered each time another frigid gust of mountain air assailed them from the north. Legolas wore no cloak; he had taken it off and bundled it around Pippin's little body, for the poor hobbit was convulsing in the cold.

Squinting through the storm, Shëanon glanced mournfully at Aragorn, shoulder deep in the drift. His hair was frozen to his face, which was beet red and raw from the onslaught of ice against his skin. He looked exhausted, his body bent against the wind, and his jaw was clenched as he forced himself onward. His hood had blown back, but he had no free hand to pull it back into place, and Shëanon saw that his ears were purple. Frodo and Sam had their faces pressed against his shoulders; their feet were blue.

A hollow, aching feeling had formed under her ribcage as she watched her companions' slow progress. For the first time in her life, Shëanon found that she hated her elven blood. Who was she to flit over the icy banks while Aragorn froze half to death, completely soaked and bearing the weight of two hobbits as he went? What had she done to be worthy of such grace? She was glad that her eyes already watered from the wind, for her throat had become tight with emotion and she feared that she might weep.

Feeling absolutely disgusted with herself, Shëanon stopped in her tracks and turned, intent on jumping down into the trench with the others, but she had hardly taken a step when strong fingers closed around her arm. Through the haze of snow, she met Legolas's gaze. There was sleet in his hair and frost on his face, but he did not seem troubled by it.

"That will not help anyone, aiër," he said, bringing his face close to her ear.

"It's not fair," she cried, heedless in her despair that she was losing her grip on her composure.

Legolas said nothing, but his expression was sorrowful as he brought an arm around her shoulders and held her against his side as they walked. Shëanon did not feel awkward for once; she was too cold and disheartened. Legolas rubbed her arm as they stepped ahead of Gandalf, for the ledge had grown too narrow for them to walk alongside the others and the drop was long and perilous over the edge. Shëanon wished desperately for the blizzard to subside; the company could not continue for much longer if the weather did not take mercy on them. The wind was past howling now—it was screaming. To Shëanon's ears, it seemed almost to be laughing, jeering, goading Caradhras against them. Almost…

Still tucked under his arm, Shëanon looked up at Legolas and saw that he was squinting out at the distant, snowcapped peaks—he heard it, too.

"Legolas?" she asked, and he squeezed her arm as he called back to the others over the storm.

"There is a fell voice on the air."

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf shouted, and Shëanon heard a sound like thunder as rocks broke away from the cliff above them and tumbled towards their heads. As one, the fellowship flung their bodies out of the way, exclaiming and cursing as they did.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled, still somehow clutching Frodo and Sam to himself. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf screamed, and Shëanon saw the fire in the wizard's eyes as he climbed up out of the snow and chanted into the storm, desperately calling over Saruman's evil spell and commanding Caradhras to go back to sleep. His voice echoed off of the mountains, magnified and terrible in the cavernous, frozen space before them, but Saruman's power must have been too great, for a bolt of lightning came forth unbidden from the cloud and struck high above them, and the company only had seconds to react. Shëanon dove as far from the ledge as possible, bringing her arms over her head, and then everything was dark and freezing cold.

Shëanon tried to breathe, but succeeded only in taking in a mouthful of snow; it bore down on her from every angle, as if she were drowning. Trying not to panic, she punched her arms in the direction she thought was up, and felt her fist break the surface. Quickly, she thrashed her way out of the crushing avalanche, gasping for breath as she watched the faces of the others break through the snow around her.

"We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!" Boromir shouted, his face pale and his lips so chapped they bled.

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isenguard!" Aragorn protested, looking beseechingly at Gandalf as Shëanon crawled awkwardly onto the surface of the snow, her clothes now soaked and freezing to her skin.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it! Let us go through the Mines of Moria!" Gimli cried, and as Legolas grasped her arms and lifted her carefully to her feet, she felt him tense. Shëanon spun around to look at Gandalf, horrified. Moria? She would rather freeze on the mountain than pass through that forsaken place. Surely, they would not…

"Let the Ringbearer decide," said Gandalf, and Shëanon could see that he was not without fear himself; it frightened her more to see it.

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir screamed. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"

He was right, Shëanon thought in despair. Merry and Pippin were as white as the snow all around them.

"Frodo?"

Shëanon closed her eyes and tried not to cry, for she knew what Frodo would say, so cold were he and his friends.

"We will go through the mines," he announced after a moment's hesitation, and Shëanon's very mind flinched as she heard Gandalf sigh, full of resignation and doubt.

"So be it."

A/N: Hey guys! I'm pretty sick right now, but I just wanted to thank you all again for reading and reviewing! Your comments literally make my day every time. I'm really excited about the next chapter; I've been waiting to write it since before I even did the prologue so I'm pumped. It's five in the morning now so I'm gonna go to sleep but thanks again! :)


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